Girls und Panzer: Open Warfare
by HereticalShinigami
Summary: A new season of tankery begins, and the military cadets want in on the action! Four foreign military academies join the fray, determined to walk away with the title. They might know a lot about war, but have they embraced the spirit of tankery? And how will they get along with the current competitors in the tournament? Panzer Vor! - Many OCs. No real Shipping.
1. Chapter 1: Called Back To The Colours

**This is the first fanfic I have written, and am still writing. This introductory chapter has been edited twice now for improvement, and I do hope you enjoy it and will continue reading. (edit made: 10/8/2015)**

**Girls und Panzer: Open Warfare**

**They won the nationals, but what happens when another set of academies gets involved? With cadets joining the ranks of the tankers, will their military training be a boon or a curse for the sport as a whole?**

**Chapter 1: Called Back To The Colours**

**12 January – Zuikaku aircraft carrier (Oarai School) – 0900hrs**

It had been over a month since the dramatic final battle with Kuromorimine academy. The remainder of the term and the winter break had come and gone for the jubilant Oarai High School, still celebrating their continued survival as an establishment. Miho Nishizumi, the girl some would call the heroine of Oarai, had spent most of it with her friends, occasionally returning to the school for friendly out-of-term matches against other academies, particularly St Gloriana, and overall, had enjoyed the time spent relaxing, even seeing her sister infrequently.

However, the holiday couldn't last, and come January, the girls of Oarai High returned for another term of teaching, some despondent that the holidays had ended. However, for Oarai's tankery team, that was not the case, as they entered the grounds of their school refreshed, and prepared for another term of battle in their roaring armoured machines. They were ready for the nationals again, and another season of competing at tankery. Under a blue sky that was still warming for a pleasant day ahead, the high schoolers assembled on the drill grounds in front of the sheds that contained their armoured steeds.

Greeting them, was Ami Chouno, their sometime tankery instructor from the previous term, who had thrown them in the deep end of training on their first day. She still wore the same confident grin as she addressed the girls in a loud voice, shaking awake some of those still bleary-eyed from having to get up for school again.

"Good morning girls! I hope you have enjoyed your time off. If you're wondering why I'm back as your instructor, my superiors have assigned me as your permanent instructor and liaison since you're now an established team after last term. I'll be bringing you news from the league and so forth, and offering help if you need it. It'll be nice working with you."

"Likewise," Anzu said, while the rest of the Oarai girls nodded in acknowledgement. The diminutive Student Council President then gestured to Momo.

"We did well in the nationals last term, but this time the League is upping the ante!" Momo began in a loud voice. "Tankery is becoming more popular again, so the League officials have agreed to take some new competitors into the league from overseas." The monocled PR rep looked at Ami to elaborate.

"Europe's high school tankery league has been on hiatus for a little while now, but with the increased coverage and enthusiasm for tankery since your school's win last term, they are looking to see if it should be brought back. As a result, they have asked several of their schools, plus an American school, to visit Japan for this term's national tournament, as a bit of a trial run, so to speak," Ami said, her words eliciting a swell of pride from the Oarai team, followed by a little bit of curiosity.

"Instructor, if you don't mind my asking, who are these challengers visiting this term?" Hana asked, in her usual polite tones.

"These new challengers are four prestigious military schools, Wellesley, Bradley, Scharnhorst and Kutusov academies. They are British, American, German and Russian respectively, and their presence will round the number of academies out at 20 for the nationals."

"But how will that work?" Karina chirped up, a look of confusion on her face, "The numbers don't add up for an even tournament, so some teams would have to fight more matches than others."

Ami developed a thoughtful look on her face, as if trying to remember some briefing details that she'd otherwise forgotten.

"A good point. I imagine that the league will send information via myself as soon as they come to a decision on that. Any other questions?"

Caesar's hand went up, her red magistrate's sagum flowing behind her as she made the gesture.

"What are these schola like that we will be facing? You said they were military schools, but do you have any other details?"

"Good question. While all of them still offer a civilian high school education, the academies blend this with aspects of military training, as a kind of prelude to an actual training course. I had the pleasure of meeting some of Bradley's cadets when they visited the unit I was serving with for a joint exercise, and I will say this – they're pretty sharp. All of these schools are top class, and some cadets are the children of serving officers, so expect skilled strategies, grounded in intelligent military thought. Whilst their teams will be new, and thus inexperienced, don't underestimate them because they'll be well trained." Ami said. The Oarai girls all looked at each other when Ami told them about underestimating their opponents. They themselves were physical proof of the damage such a misstep could cause. They would tread carefully around the cadets.

"Anything else you would like to add, teach?" Anzu said to Ami, who put her hand to her chin in a thinking pose.

"Nothing much springs to mind, other than the fact that since their countries of origin have different educational systems, the academies are of mixed gender rather than single sex."

Upon hearing this small nugget of information, Saori's ears twitched, and she resisted the urge to leap into the air. "There's going to be good-looking men for me to woo!" she proclaimed. Saori was keen to meet new people, like the outspoken social butterfly that she was, and even better in there were some guys to romance.

Miho was less giddy, as more challengers, especially of a more powerful nature, would only make the competition harder to win. "I've heard of some of these academies. As Ami said, they're all military establishments, so they'll be well-equipped and efficient, albeit a little inexperienced, if they're only joining the league now. They might have some experience from lower years like I did, and they will be training hard. We have a clear experience lead, and our crews are evidently capable now, but our tanks are still underpowered, at least in comparison with Kuromorimine and Pravda. So we may have to retrofit and improvise," she whispered to herself.

The rest of the girls were excitedly conversing amongst themselves in hushed tones, barring Riko 'Erwin' Matsumoto, who remained oddly quiet, removing her hat from her head and staring at it in contemplation. Few noticed the gesture, and those that did just wrote it off as her checking her headgear over.

"I'll be back in 2 weeks when they publish the matchups and friendlies timetable! I expect you girls to practice hard and prepare well! They're not going to be pushovers!" Ami shouted, as she turned and strode away from the group. All eyes turned on Miho.

"Well commander, what do we do?" asked Anzu. The impish student president was, as usual, snacking on something, and she gave a little wave to Miho, who looked deep in thought.

"We'll have to see if we can bring in some new vehicles somehow, with heavier guns, and retrofit the tanks we currently possess to be more competitive. What we mainly need to work on is initiative, and just train, train, train. Practice makes perfect after all, our teams, while good at working together, sometimes seem to be overly reliant on my instructions, which could be a crippling weakness if our Panzer is knocked out early in an elimination game. So, thinking independently is to be emphasised, and we should also establish a chain of command in case the command tank is knocked out. So if the student council can secure new weapons, I'll being working on training our crews up more." Miho replied. The team, well aware of Miho's insight into tankery, went quiet to hear her speak.

"Super! We'll get right on that," Anzu responded, a big grin on her face. "Yuzu, Momo, go and call up the headmaster, and tell him to allocate more funding to the team that saved the school, eh?" Yuzu and Momo nodded, sighing internally at Anzu's consistent delegation of work, and ran off to follow the president's orders. Anzu, rather than do anything productive, pulled out a bag of sweets, and looked at Miho expectantly.

"Every other team, to your tanks! Let's get some training done!" shouted Miho.

With that, every girl on the training field scrambled into the tank shed and started up their tanks with a loud roar. Miho, sitting in the turret of her Panzer IV, began mentally writing off which tanks would be useless in the upcoming battle. While she had no clue as to the tank composition of their new challengers, she was sure that some of the light tanks in Oarai's arsenal would be too weak to compete. Certainly, the volleyball club (Duck team) and their 89B would need to go, as perhaps would Anteater team's (the gamer girls) Chi-nu type 3. The B1 of Mallard team (the ethics committee) was dubious too. Their sheer lack of firepower was a hindrance against every well-armed team in the league, although the armour of the B1 made it highly difficult to disable against some tanks. The M3 Lee crewed by the 1st year girls (Rabbit Team) could be useful, mainly due to its dual guns, but its high profile and low manoeuvrability made it exposed, and so it was a tossup between it and the type 3. The staples of the team would be the Panzer IV of her Anglerfish team, the STUG III of Hippo Team, the Porsche Tiger of the Mechanics Club (Leopon team) and the Hetzer of Turtle Team (the student council).

'The matches will be organised along standard tournament lines, I am assuming,' thought Miho, 'which means we have 10 tanks in the first two rounds, 15 in the third, and 20 in the final. We have eight tanks total. While we have 4 powerful tanks, the Porsche Tiger is a little prone to mechanical failure, and so we need reliable backups available. A little improvement to our roster wouldn't go amiss if we have to face Kuromorimine again.' Miho thought.

"Yukari, are there any variants or upgrades possible for some of our weaker vehicles? I highly doubt we can get enough funding to buy in totally new tanks," Miho asked her loader.

"Well sure! The type 89 is clearly our weakest link, made in the 1920s, but if we want it more efficient, we could adjust the armour and engine to make an Otsu variant. That's about it for that one though. The chi-nu was a prototype that never saw service, so there isn't much we can do there. The M3 Lee has a number of variants, although most are non-combat. I mean, if we had time, we could pretty much make the Ram tank out of it…." The loader responded, turning to look at Miho.

"That's a Canadian tank right?" Miho asked quizzically. She'd heard of the name before, but never come across one in tankery.

"Yeah! It never saw service, but it apparently performed in trials way better than the M3, and it lacks some of its worse flaws, but it would also require a total refit, as the upper hull, turret and gun are completely different. I mean, we managed that on the Hetzer, right? So we should be able to do the same thing again. The B1 is kinda stuck though, because the league won't look kindly on the other variant, considering it has a flame-thower…." Yukari trailed off.

"Agreed," Miho replied. "We have some spare guns though, and we could get in more parts from other vehicles if we needed. Non-standard refits aren't banned by the league, even if they don't look on them favourably…"

"We'll have to see how much money we can weasel out of the headmaster then before we plan any new vehicle overhauls." Yukari confirmed Miho's thoughts.

Miho turned her mind to how exactly the Oarai roster could be improved, and how much it could cost. The roar of the Panzer starting underneath her interrupted her deliberations, as Mako set the behemoth grinding forward, setting them on course towards the training grounds.

"Right girls! First exercise is team battle, total elimination! Rabbit, Mallard, and Leopon teams vs Hippo, Duck and Anteater teams! Rabbit and Duck, you're the captains of each team! Battle starts in 10 minutes so plan your moves and roll out!" Miho broadcasted over the radio.

A chorus of affirmatives came back over the crackling set, as each team split off and headed into different parts of the woods, engines roaring. The practice ground was rocky terrain, with narrow paths, ridges and some dead ground, excellent for ambushes. Mako positioned the Panzer on a ridge to the extreme North of the field, with a commanding view of almost the entire field, so Miho and the rest of Anglerfish team could observe the practice session.

The eastern side of the battlefield had team 1, under Rabbit team, while in the west were Duck team's team 2. In the northernmost part of the field, barely visible in a hull-down position in the dead ground, was the STUG of Hippo team, whose lower profile and camouflage scheme made them extremely difficult to spot for Miho's eyes, and even then she could see them only due to her raised position. South of them, on a ridge with their hull partially obscured by rock, but clearly visible, was the type 89B of Duck team, whose commander Isobe had chosen a commanding position to survey the field. On team 2's right flank was Anteater team and their type 3 chi-nu, using the colouration of their vehicle to camouflage themselves amidst a small copse of trees. A well-rounded ambush strategy in all, Miho thought, using the ability of manoeuvrable and weaker tanks to ambush superior foes. However, it would fall to Duck team to keep the cohesion required for a well-placed ambush, as without proper coordination, each tank could be picked off one by one.

Taking completely the opposite approach was team 1, who were drawn up in tight formation in the centre of the field, with Rabbit team's M3 in the middle, Leopon's Tiger(P) on the right, and Mallard's B1 on the left. Rabbit team appeared to be concerned for their own tank, with its weak side and rear armour, and were using their more well-armoured comrades to cover this. To some, it could seem that their self-preservation was getting the better of them, forsaking sound strategy in favour of brute force, due to their better armed and armoured tanks. However, Miho knew that Rabbit team had mostly gotten over their initial morale issues, and that this could be a ruse on their part, hoping to lure the somewhat gung-ho volleyball girls into springing their trap too early. The partially angled orientation of the B1 Bis and the Tiger P suggested that this tight grouping could split rapidly if needed.

To signal the start, the Panzer IV would fire off a blank round. Yukari dutifully slammed home a round into the KwK 40, and Hana fired the shot off a second later. The crew then opened all the hatches, and sat back to watch the show, except Mako, who was asleep in her driver's seat already.

The match began with the roaring of engines, and the clatter of treads.

Location Shift -

**Carrier Dauntless, Wellesley Royal Military Academy, 1100 Hours, somewhere at sea**

"I heard you wanted to see me, sir?"

"Indeed I did, captain. It would appear that the Japanese tankery league has approved the request to take on our academy for this term's tankery tournament, as part of the test to bring the European High School League back."

"That's good news sir, but how does it affect me?"

"I would like you to form our team, and coach it. You are after all one of the best young officers we have, and I need someone with their head screwed on for this."

The two voices conversing had a clear difference in age, one old and gruff, and the other young, with a clipped and crisp accent, which would have sounded nice if it wasn't ever so slightly wavering. Both were wearing grey, well-pressed military shirts, with thin blue trim, combined with grey trousers and well-polished boots. The older man had several prestigious looking medals arrayed on his shirt, while the younger man possessed only one. Each also bore a holster on their right hip, although the worn grip on the older man's pistol demonstrated long service, whilst the pristine condition of the other man's stood testament to his lack of actual field experience.

"But sir! Are you sure about this? I mean…" the younger man stammered, "I'm not exactly the most veteran of our officers here."

"Well, this is your chance captain. It'll be good experience for you. Plus, if you get stuck you can always ask Major Thomas for a hand. Anyway, that was an order, not a request, so assemble a team from the cadets who expressed interest and get them trained up as you see fit."

The younger man shuddered. Major Thomas was a hardnosed bastard, and he'd rather not have to go to him for advice. Aside from that, his mind was already racing a mile a minute thinking about everything he'd need to get done for this new team.

"How long do I have before the first match?"

"3 weeks, John. I know it's a bit short notice, but I'm confident you'll do just fine."

"Which tanks are we allowed to utilise sir? I know we have an extensive pool, but the seniors might not be so keen to share with the lower years."

"I am giving you full access to any mass production vehicles that we possess, it'll make the maintenance easier. We want a strong showing for our first go out there, so take a decent selection and keep it balanced. As for the seniors, Major Thomas has already been informed about it, so he won't give you any trouble over what you take. Just be reasonable about it."

"What about no.131 sir?" the man identified as John asked tentatively.

"You want the old beast? Well, I suppose you may as well, it'll look good if our team has something impressive for its first showing. We haven't had it running in a while, so it should cause a bit of excitement."

"Yes sir. I believe I shall hold briefings in 2 hours, sir, directly after lunch. It will give me time to get the message out to the students. Can you get me the lists of those who expressed interests, sir?"

"Yes, I'll have them forwarded to you immediately. If that's all, splendid. Good day, Captain Hart."

"Good day sir."

The younger man saluted, turned on his heel crisply and walked out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Once he had left the room, he slumped against the door frame and wiped his brow. At 28, John Hart was one of the youngest instructors at Wellesley academy, and had been selected to teach tankery due to his theoretical work, not his field experience. Of average height and lean build, John did not look the part of a soldier. The headmaster, on the other hand, was a grizzled veteran who had seen service in 7 theatres and a variety of commands before retiring to Wellesley academy to teach. The other apparent role the headmaster fulfilled was scaring the living hell out of John, and most of the other staff too, being both more aggressive, and a good deal more physically imposing than many people. After composing himself following the ordeal of confronting such a man, Hart went to begin assembling his new tankery cadets, his boots ringing on the deck plating.

**Wellesley Drill Ground - 1300 Hours**

On the deck of the carrier, immediately after lunch, roughly 45 students, five of whom were in mechanic overalls, assembled on a drill ground, surrounded on three sides by a large number of tank sheds. The school itself maintained a large number of tanks, British or allied, as would be expected of a British military academy, although many were reserved for the senior students. In any case, it wasn't too much of a problem for Hart to find tanks for his students, and he had assembled nine vehicles for the new team. The captain had selected as modern and reliable a roster as he could possibly manage, skipping over some of the early war tanks that the academy still preserved. All of the vehicle shed doors were marked with the academy's crest, an Imperial Eagle gripping the British Flag in its talons.

As they arrived from lunch the students formed into perfect ranks on the drill ground, five ranks of nine, and patiently waited for their instructor. John composed himself and then stepped in front of the formation, whose eyes fixed upon him like a targeting array.

"As I am sure you are aware, our school normally competes in tankery from the ages of 18 to 21 years old, but we found that there was a great deal of interest from you lower years, so we petitioned and were accepted by the Japanese league to compete at high school level, since the European High School circuit has been on hiatus for some time." Hart said. "You are the students that expressed an interest in the sport, so you will be forming our team. I am here to offer advice, and prepare your training, but the rest will be up to you. Before we begin forming a team, I will show you the vehicles you will be crewing." Hart walked over to the vehicle sheds, opening a door and stepping inside. A moment later, he reappeared, as most of the vehicle sheds' doors rose up. Hart raised an arm in indication of the different vehicles, and walked along in front of the sheds, pointing out each tank.

"Here are the tanks we have available for our roster. We weren't able to secure the potential twenty that one could field in the finals, but we have nine varied vehicles here, and being able to field a flexible team is important," John announced, beginning a slow walk down the sheds. "With that in mind, we have: the A34 Comet I, the M10 Achilles, two mark VII Churchill tanks, although one is in need of some repair, 3 A27M Cromwell tanks, and one M24 Chaffee. Each of these has different strengths, so combination will be beneficial to a solid strategy." John strode over to the final shed, which displayed a large Iron Cross instead of the academy's logo. Pulling out a key, Hart unlocked the last shed.

"Our final vehicle for the team is one that is rarely deployed, mostly due to its rarity." As the door rolled upwards, the students saw the ominous bulk of a large, boxy war machine lurking in the darkness of the shed. "Cadets, this is the Panzer VI, also known as the Tiger tank. This one in particular, no.131, is the only Tiger possessed by a non-German academy. Also, unlike most of the ones in use in the current tankery leagues, this one is the real thing. Captured in Tunisia, this tank was studied and restored, before finally being given to this academy. The headmaster has given this team clearance to use it."

The students having had the chance to view their vehicles for the upcoming tournament, Hart decided it was time to get them into a team and start training.

"Before we begin, we need our team captain, who will then be choosing the tank commanders for the team," Hart announced. A couple of speculative murmurs went through the ranks at who would be commanding them in the tourney, but they were hushed quickly. "To simplify proceedings greatly, I have simply selected the captain based on overall grades and records, including any infractions committed." A couple of the cadets in the crowd winced when he mentioned their disciplinary records. "Thus, your captain for this team will be Samuel Pearce."

A few more hushed whispers went through the assembled cadets, who had a variety of reactions. In particular, Hart spotted one girl, tall and with short black hair, who looked like she'd just bitten a lemon. The girl behind her was whispering 'Angela, you totally deserved it more than him,' in a hushed tone. Eventually, all of the Wellesley cadets looked at one of their own, a short boy in the third rank with short brown hair and thin, rectangular glasses. He was wearing a long leather military trenchcoat over his cadet uniform. The most striking feature about the cadet however, was simply his expressionless and apathetic demeanour. Hart had tutored a few classes with Pearce in before, and not once had he seen the boy smile, frown, grin, laugh, anything. Regardless, Hart smiled at the boy as he addressed him.

"Mr Pearce, would you like to take the Tiger as your flag tank?" he asked.

The boy looked at his teacher with a blank, emotionless visage that nearly sent shudders down the man's spine. "Of course sir. I will do my utmost to secure victory for our academy."

**There you have it, the end to my first chapter. We've introduced my protagonists, Wellesley Academy, a group of battle-hungry British cadets, as well as gotten a bit more Oarai action. It is an introduction, so its mostly exposition, and the story will begin to move after this chapter.**

**This is just a call to all readers to please review my work. I enjoy reading constructive criticism, or even just an 'I liked it/disliked it' and would love to have more feedback from you. I'm also open to private messaging if you fancy discussing anything with me.**

**It may be a while before I can put another chapter out, I'm going into exams at the moment so revision kinda takes precedence, much as I wish it didn't. (Edit: Exams went well. Second Edit: Went well enough that I'm looking at top marks for my degree)**

**Next time on Girls und Panzer: Team talk! Practice Battle and Organisation.**


	2. Chapter 2: Practice time!

**Here is chapter 2 of Girls und Panzer Open Warfare. First battle scene, and a little attempt at some more character introduction for my academy. Again, its some setup for what is to come, and it might drag, but I think its needed or you'd have no clue who everyone is.**  
**(I was originally going to do a ton of musical cues, but I think the OST should cover most of them, if not I have suggested some alternatives)**

**Some editing done here on the 10/8/2015.**

**Carrier Dauntless - Wellesley Royal Military Academy – 1305 Hours**

Walking out of the ranks of his assembled fellows, newly appointed Captain Samuel Pearce allowed himself a small smile on his otherwise tightly controlled features. Hart looked the boy up and down. The Captain was one of the higher year cadets there, at 18yrs old, and so would only get a few tournaments in charge before graduating to the next level of education, and thus a new tier tankery. Hart knew the boy aimed to make these few as successful as possible.

Pearce's lack of physicality compared to many of the more typical recruits had made some question exactly why he was a cadet at all, as despite competence in martial arts and fitness classes, his lack of strength made beating the bigger students difficult. The only martial class Sam was above average in was sword sparring, and that was where Hart had found the boy before class, practicing on his own in one of the fitness halls. Two other people had been observing at a distance, but Hart didn't catch who they were. The boy was motivated though, whirling through practice drills with a hand-and-a-half sword. Hart had seen the results of the more academic classes too. While he would make an average dog soldier at best, as a commander, Pearce had a strategic mind, highly analytical and intelligent, although his lack of attachment to his troops and colleagues did make him potentially too apathetic. His answers to theoretical questions, while superb, often resulted in the sacrifice of units wholesale to achieve total victory, rather than conserving his forces in favour of smaller tactical victories. There was a truly dangerous mind behind Pearce's glasses.

As he neared Hart's position in front of the men, Pearce brushed an errant strand of hair back into place, restoring his short, dark brown hair to full neatness, a small fringe at the front swept to the side. Straightening his military coat and glasses, once he reached the front he pivoted on his heel next to John, the instructor giving him a small nod to indicate permission to begin speaking. The boy's imperceptible smile had disappeared, a fixed expression of distance and calculation restored to his features.

"Good morning fellow cadets," he began, "Considering that many of us are new to tankery, or even an understanding of tanks in general, and that I don't know all of you particularly well, I am going to select team captains, and then they are going to pick those of you who they think have both the aptitude and the camaraderie to work well together. If needed, we can adjust the team roles after practice. Understood?" asked Sam, as he projected his voice across the deck.

"Yes captain!" came the uniform response of his fellows.

"First, in the Achilles tank destroyer, we are having Christopher Taylor."

A relatively tall boy with mid-length brown hair came forward, slouching a little as he did so. He had a very laid back demeanour, not something one would expect from a cadet, and a nonchalant smile graced the boy's lips. He was roguishly charming in his looks, neither boyishly handsome nor rugged.

"I'd rather be sleeping bro, but you're the boss," Chris said to Sam as he came to stand to the right of him. Pearce regarded him expressionlessly.

"I need a cool head in that Achilles, and you fit the bill perfectly, Mr Taylor," replied Sam, "Quite frankly, were you anymore chilled out, you'd have frostbite, and while I don't mind you being relaxed, you had better not be lazy. I also expect you to be more respectful when we're on duty."

"That's cold, sir," responded Chris, an expression of faux-offence on his visage.

"I thought you were the chilled one, Christopher," shot back Pearce caustically. He returned his attention to his fellow cadets in front of him.

"For our M24 Chaffee, Miss Angela Clark, if you'd like to take command?" Pearce pointed to a tall girl with short black hair, who had been glowering at him only a second ago. Evidently, she wanted to be commander. The girl's expression lightened a little as she took her place to Chris's right.

"Your record indicates that you will not let me down, Miss Clark," said Sam, a cold assessment of his closest rival for the captaincy, although his features softened just a fraction as he continued, "Nor do I think you will."

"I don't like that you're our commander, but it's been decided. Just don't mess up, because I certainly won't," she retorted, but the statement carried only a little malice. Evidently it wasn't personal.

"I don't need you to like me, just do your job. I don't brook insubordination," Pearce silenced Angela with that remark, any trace of the softness from his previous remark gone.

Having filled the specialist positions on his team, Pearce began filling in the core of his tank force.

"Miss Rowley, Mr Hawke and Miss Armstrong, please come forward, you shall be our commanders of the A27M Cromwell tanks."

Three figures paced out from the line, and took their places. Anna Rowley was a short girl with large, circular glasses, and brown hair done up in a bun. As one of the technology-focused cadets, her main distinguishing feature was a lab coat, which she had opted to keep on over her uniform. By contrast, Stephen Hawke was a tall, black haired lad with a clearly sporty physique. If one talked to him, the main thing they would take away was his gung-ho attitude, coupled with a strong London accent. The final captain, Katherine Armstrong, was fairly petite, with blonde hair held up at the back. She cast a glance at Chris as she passed him, their eyes locking for a second, before they both returned to a business-like demeanour.

"Simon Williams, Liam Andrews, you two can be our Churchill commanders, although Simon, you may wish to liaise with our engineers to fix your one back to working order. And speaking of engineers, Elliot Jones, you are in command of our A34 Comet."

Simon, a short black haired boy, stumbled out of the ranks. He tripped as he was walking forward, and was caught by a blonde haired girl, who gave him a wry smile. He blushed and hurried into position with the other commanders. Liam, on the other hand, strolled out, one hand in his pockets. He was a lad of medium height, short brown hair, and soft features. A book was tucked into his back pocket. The final captain took slightly more time to arrive, being at the back of the formation. His engineering side was clear, by both the wrench he was holding, and a blue variant of the standard uniform to further demarcate him. Otherwise, he was a little unprepossessing, of average height, build and demeanour, with short-ish brown hair.

All of the captain's roles now filled, each captain took turns in selecting their teams from amongst the remaining recruits. Some were unsurprising, with Elliot taking his engineering colleagues into a team, the sporty guys following Stephen, and a coterie of girls following Angela. A cluster of lab coats indicated Roberts team, chosen by Anna and essentially composed from the R&amp;D cadets. The other teams were less homogenous in their makeup. Sam turned to John to ask him a question.

"Sir, considering you assembled us for tankery, perhaps you might wish to name our teams for us?"

John was taken off guard for a second. He fully expected Pearce to disregard him now that he was captain of the team. To be consulted was a tad unexpected.

"It would be an honour," he replied.

**Meanwhile….**

**Zuikaku Carrier – Oarai Girls Academy**

Quite unlike their counterparts in Wellesley, who were still assembling their teams, the Oarai girls were getting some practice in. As the noise of the Panzer's main gun echoed across the valley, the two competing teams put their plans into action. For Duck team and their allies, that meant waiting, while Rabbit team took the more direct route. Engines firing, the B1, M3 and Tiger P all beat a fairly direct path towards the Type 89B, at which Isobe grinned triumphantly. Rabbit had taken the bait. The incoming fire from the three rolling tanks was somewhat more worrying. One lucky hit, from the Tiger especially, could put the Type 89 out of action and leave Team 2 leaderless and without coordination. Fortunately, Isobe had chosen her position wisely. Shinobu had positioned the tank well, as she had left just enough of the tank exposed to be clear, yet obscured by the intervening rocks enough to make being hit highly unlikely, so as to draw in the enemy without being picked off at range. And thus far it was working.

Waiting in the dead ground just to the north of the ridge Duck team had chosen, Hippo team sat, prepared to strike. As usual, the team were discussing which historical battle this engagement most represented.

"This glorious engagement shall resemble the battle of Trebia, where the cavalry waited out of view while the enemy charged the infantry before closing the trap!" declared Caesar.

"The Romans lost that one!" shouted Saemonza.

"I know! But one must agree that Hannibal was a more than worthy adversary," Caesar replied.  
"It more resembles the battle of Okehazama, where Oda Nobunaga and his men ambushed Imagawa Yoshimoto and slaughtered them all!" suggested Saemonza.

"The massacre at Kurikara also comes to mind," interjected Oryou.

"I would prefer it if the battle resembled the early stages of Stalingrad, where Kurt Pfreundtner destroyed 9 Russian tanks in 20 minutes, using his trusty Sturmgeschütz," proposed Erwin, poking her head back into the tank from the cupola, where she had been observing the movements of the enemy through her binoculars.

"If we're lucky we may even receive the knight's cross, much like he did."

"I would prefer a wreath of oak leaves, or a phalera disk to wear with pride," responded Caesar.

"Regardless, get the kanone loaded, we may have to move soon, and we won't get any medals if we get knocked out," Erwin said, before poking her head back out the hatch as she returned to observing the enemy.

The Gamer girls on the other hand were discussing the potentiality to improve sensha-do based on their gaming experience. Their commander, Nekota, much like Erwin in her StuG, was sat high in the turret, watching the enemy advance.

"I'm telling you Piyotan, if we dropped loot when tanks were defeated, it would both encourage progression of the vehicles, and be a good incentive to play!" proposed Momoga.

Piyotan was less convinced.

"But Momoga, where would we store loot to drop? We only have a limited space in our tank, and tanks are so varied item drops wouldn't really be a clever idea." She replied.

"But everyone knows the best part of any game is the loot! Pragmatism aside, it would be really cool. What do you think Nekota?"

Nekota ducked her head back into the tank's interior.

"Item drops are always a fun aspect of a game, and in such competitions as these where they are multiplayer, they can provide balance, avoiding the pay-to-win systems that some MMOs suffer from. For instance, if one compared Bonple with Kuromorimine, they are as well matched as a Lv1 Frost Mage against an Ice Giant. We all know how that matchup goes. A more even system increases competitiveness and player enjoyment within a game," she suggested, the other two girls nodding in response.

"But to make sure the enemy does not utilise their stealth attribute overmuch, I must return to watching for the enemy, utilising my perception skills." Nekota said this as she returned her attention to the outside world, leaving the two other girls to continue their debate.

While these internal dialogues were occurring, Team 1 was roaring across country, closing the distance between them and the tank of Duck team, exposed as it was on the ridge. Unlike Team 2, which was maintaining radio silence, Team 1 had no such compunctions, and Rabbit team was maintaining tight control and contact between its vehicles. During the initial deployment, Azusa had come up with a strategy based primarily on the ability of their tanks to take hits, compared to the relatively light nature of the Team 2 vehicles. At this point, Saki, the soft-spoken loader of the team, had suggested that team 2 may use their manoeuvrable nature and small size to conceal themselves, much as the Oarai Hetzer tank had done against Kuromorimine. Azusa took this to heart, and was far more alert with regard to ambushes. Each tank leader, Nakajima in the Tiger, Azusa in the M3, and Sodoko in the B1 were all watching vigilantly from the cupolas of their tanks.

"The type 89 is clearly visible, almost too exposed for any tank commander taking up a static position, particularly with the thickness of their armour. We'll have to keep a sharp look out for any ambushes or flank attacks. I want Leopon and Rabbit to swing round to the right of the hill, and then advance up on the type 89 from behind. The B1 will advance straight up the slope to greet them. Between us and those rocks, they'll have nowhere to run," Azusa broadcast over the radio.

Two clear acknowledgements of the plan came back over the radio.

The tanks of Team 1 began to steadily shift their formation, with the B1 staying true, while the Tiger and M3 began a slight deviation of course towards the dead ground on the right. This move did not go unnoticed by the tanks of Team 2. Certainly, one StuG commander was not pleased by this, as it would undoubtedly ruin their ambush. She expressed this in very few words indeed.

"Shit!" Erwin exclaimed, putting the situation rather eloquently, snapping her binoculars down.  
Grasping the microphone neckpiece, she reported in to Duck team.

"Commander, I believe our plan might be compromised. The enemy seems to intend to envelop the hill, as they have changed course marginally. This could be like the Falaise pocket all over again in we don't change plans."

In the cupola of the type 89, Isobe grimaced. This was not a good situation. It could perhaps be turned around in some way though.

"Alright team, here's the plan," she broadcast over the radio net.

**Dauntless - Wellesley Academy**

**(The Coldstream Guards – Milanollo March music)**

"I see what you've done here sir, you've named each team after a commander of ours. Very clever," said Pearce.

"I try," replied Hart, "Just remember the order is:"

Montgomery team – Tiger 131 – Commander: Samuel Pearce  
Wavell team – M10 Achilles – Captain: Christopher Taylor  
Campbell team – M24 Chaffee – Captain: Angela Clark  
Roberts team – A27M Cromwell – Captain: Anna Rowley  
Russell team – A27M Cromwell – Captain: Steven Hawke  
Clinton team – A27M Cromwell – Captain: Katherine Armstrong  
Allenby team – MkVII Churchill – Captain: Liam Andrews  
Marlborough team – MkVII Churchill – Captain: Simon Williams  
Hobart team – A34 Comet – Captain: Elliot Jones

While the captains had been listening to Hart come up with team designations, the rest of the cadets were clustered around each of their tanks. Pearce cast his gaze over them with a look of disinterestedness. Campbell team were maintaining a respectful distance from their tank, looking expectantly at Angela, making their loyalty to her very clear. Pearce just sighed inwardly, he hoped that they would know who was actually in charge of the team. Roberts team, on the other hand, were fascinated with their vehicle, taking in as many angles as possible. The R&amp;D cadets were eager, but perhaps not practical. Hopefully their enthusiasm could be channelled into battlefield performance. The other teams were in varying states, some having gone so far as to get in their tanks. Russell team had even started theirs, and it would appear that their driver was eager.  
A clatter of gears alerted the captains to the movement of Russell's Cromwell, which lurched a couple of times before charging forward out of the garage, on a direct course to them. Nor did it appear as if it was stopping any time soon.

Chris was the first to react to the movement, the normally laid back man pushed Anna and Liam out of the way before leaping to the side himself. The other captains fled out of the path of the approaching tank, barring John, who had frozen to the spot. Pearce calmly grabbed his shoulder as he strode past, and half-escorted, half-pulled the man out of the way of the Cromwell, a scant few seconds before the Cromwell thundered through the spot they had just occupied. The out of control vehicle continued on a straight path across the drill ground, despite repeated calls for the crew to stop their vehicle. The squeal of breaks and then a muffled thud alerted the captains to the fact that the driver had found the brakes of the Cromwell, but not in time to prevent a collision with the opposite garage. Fortunately, the metal doors of the shed were fairly solid, but there was still an evident dent in the silhouette of a Cromwell chassis imprinted on the surface. Pearce looked at Stephen with a gaze that made his blood run cold.

"Captain Hawke, I suggest you get your men under control, and soon, or I may need to find a new team," he said in a quiet, but steely tone.

Steven gulped. He may have been almost a foot taller than his superior, and far more muscular, but that tone brooked no insubordination. He sprinted off with a muffled affirmative to see if his team was alright.

While Russell team were helped out of their vehicle by their captain, Pearce nodded to Chris. The taller lad whistled very loudly, getting the attention of the cadets. Deathly silence settled over the drill ground for nearly a minute. Pearce broke the silence.

"As our rather foolish teammates just demonstrated, a tank is a difficult machine to handle. It is not to be taken lightly, as Russell team just did. These machines were originally made to kill people," he said, emphasising the word kill, "and must be respected as such, whether you are driving it or not. I expect you to know these machines as well as your own families before we even think about putting in for practice. I do not want a repeat of this incident."

The cadets had lost much of their initial cheerfulness in the face of this sobering instance, and stood with neutral expressions facing their officers.

"However," added Pearce, "this is supposed to be a competition, not a first deployment. Of course we are going to ensure we win, but you are supposed to enjoy the experience too. Making all the serious decisions is my job. Having fun and following orders is yours. So go and get acquainted with your tanks, and decide which roles you will be fulfilling based on who will be best at it. For example," he pointed to a shorter lad being helped down from the crashed Cromwell, "I doubt David will be getting a drivers post after that display of fine driving."

A small chuckle rippled through the ranks at the comment. Hart decided this was the best time to excuse himself.

"It seems you have everything solved here captain, so I will take my leave. You can find me..." he was cut off by Pearce.

"Actually sir I would like it if you would stay, unless you have other duties. Your advice would be most welcomed."

Hart smiled. It was nice to be consulted.

**Zuikaku carrier – Oarai Academy**

As the tanks of Team 1 began to split apart in formation, Team 2 awaited the right moment to put their plan into action. Anteater team were patiently watching Mallard's B1 as it passed their position in the trees, while Hippo team watched the Porsche tiger and the M3 close slowly on the dead ground where they waited. Duck team stood proud on the ridge they had occupied since the battle began, poised for movement. While the battle had seen a lack of movement and action thus far, the air of tension in the air was palpable.

As soon as the Porsche Tiger reached the dead ground, the StuG sprang into action. Hippo team's Kwk 40 gun spoke, placing an accurate shot onto the front of the Tiger. Sadly, at the range it was at, the shot bounced off the thick front plating, but leaving a noticeable dent in the surface of the vehicle. The StuG reversed rapidly, aiming to draw the two tanks of team 1 away from their Mallard team allies. Shots from both the Tiger and the M3 whizzed past the front amour of the StuG as Oryou reversed the tank, weaving slightly as she did so. Reaching the lip of the dead ground, Oryou pivoted the tank elegantly and then slammed it into gear, letting the StuG race forwards.

"Commander, its working! They're chasing us!" exclaimed Saemonza.

"Much like the Numidian cavalry of antiquity, we are drawing the enemy away from the main battle," added Caesar.

"Remain focused, the enemy is still chasing us. We aren't a good decoy if we're eliminated," warned Erwin.

At the same time, the B1 was approaching the hill, and preparing for the climb to reach Duck team's position of the ridge. The B1, not known for its high speed, made steady progress towards the type 89, which had begun firing towards them, hoping to draw them in. Rounds pockmarked the ground as Mallard team slowly ground up the hill, the hull-mounted 75mm howitzer on the B1 occasionally responding in kind to Duck team's provocations. Sodoko was not utilising the gun on the turret, occupied as she was trying to guide the tank and use the radio. As the Char reached the slope, a flash of colour alerted to Sodoko to the presence of a new threat. A slow, imperceptible movement gave away the movement of Anteater team, as their type 3 emerged from the copse they had spent the entire battle in.

"Ambush!" she reported to Azusa, voice rising in urgency, "We have Anteater's chi-nu to our left side. What do you want us to do?"

"Do what you need to keep going. Rabbit will move to support. Leopon, you stay on the StuG. We can do this in one-on-one fights, we have the more powerful tanks, so we can do this if we try," replied Azusa, bending slightly to speak to her crew.

"Karina, turn us round. We need to rescue the ethics committee!"

"Right!" came the response of the driver, stressed as always.

The M3 tilted as Karina whisked the tank in a tight circle, perhaps tighter than many would assume possible. The Tiger of Leopon team maintained their heading, firing as they did so. It seemed the StuG was heading for narrow paths through the trees to the northwest of the field, hoping to lose the heavier and slower vehicle in the thick foliage. Leopon continued their pursuit, not pushing their Tiger too hard for fear of aggravating the temperamental vehicle.

As the type 3 slowly made its way out of the trees, firing as it did so, the type 89b began making a descent from the crest of the hill. Isobe smiled. Hopefully they could take out the B1 before Team 1 rallied round to save them. Sodoko was not so impressed.

"Gomoyo, reverse! We need to face the type 3, or we might take damage on our left side."

"But Duck team will be on our right!" Gomoyo replied.

"Their gun is weaker than Anteater team, so it's better to face the more powerful opponent with our thickest armour. Pazomi, get the 75 mm loaded again, we need to take out that type 3 before we get caught between two tanks."

The B1, now on the slope, threw itself into reverse, bouncing down to the flat ground and slewing round to face the type 3, which had continued a steady advance towards them, firing as it went. Nozomi opened fire with the 75mm howitzer mounted in the hull of the Renault, gouging great divots into the earth before the Anteater team. Similar craters began to form around the B1 as Duck and Anteater teams returned the fire in kind. Some rounds bounced off the armour of each tank as Sodoko used the 47mm gun in the turret to try and prevent the movement of the type 89, which was still descending the hill, evidently aiming to get behind them.

"Let's give them a _dirt dessert_!" exclaimed Shinobu.

"We just have to be careful, we can't afford to _shank_ it," replied Isobu. "Keep it on the strong side if you can, then we can get round the enemy and we can score."

**(A/N These bizarre expressions courtesy of team USA's official volleyball jargon PDF, and quite frankly are some of the more intelligible of the terms therein)  
**  
The smattering of volleyball related jargon aside, the type 89b roared down the hill, aiming to get round the right flank of the Renault. Akebi, the gunner, was maintaining a decent rate of fire on the Renault and scoring a few hits too. The downside was that few were scoring more than cosmetic damage, although a few scores and dents were visible on the armour of the B1. Similar scoring was visible along the front plate of the type 89b, although the situation was about to change rapidly. A shot from Sodoko slammed into the right track segment at the front of the type 89, rending apart the treads and leading it to slew violently left, leaving Duck team in the flank of the Renault, but immobile until repairs could be effected. Mallard team, finally having their first good fortune of the match, allowed themselves a brief moment of hope before returning to their positions. Despite the clear benefits to their shooting, the stationary nature of the B1 also meant that it was easy to target for both Duck and Anteater teams, proven a moment later when Akebi and Piyotan both smashed shots into the B1. A terrible rending sound alerted Mallard team to some damage.

"Sorry Sodoko, but it looks they put the howitzer out of action with that last shot," reported Pazomi.

"Gomoyo, put us in reverse! We need to get Duck team back into our front arc. Pazomi, help me with the turret, you can load," ordered Sodoko.

The B1 may have been a powerful vehicle, but the turret required the commander to load and fire the gun as well as order the tank about. An extra pair of hands could be useful now the other gun was out of commission. Battered, but not out the fight, the B1 reversed, putting both the stricken type 89 and the Chi-nu, now stationary at 300m distance, back into its front arc, making it less vulnerable to attack. Choosing to target the type 89 rather than the Chi-nu, Mallard team pounded round after 47mm round into the damaged tank, making it impossible for Duck team to repair their battered tank. The sound of rending metal filled the air, followed by a small pop as the white flag that displayed surrender sprang from the hatch it was concealed in to confirm that Duck team was in fact, out of operation. Had this been a match in the tournament, team 1 would have been celebrating wildly as they had nailed the enemy's commander, but this was a total elimination match, and as such, it was only one of three tanks down.

"We got Duck team, Miss Sawa," reported Sodoko, "but we're in a bad way here. That chi-nu is going to destroy us eventually."

"Just hang on Sodoko, we'll be on location in soon," came the voice of Rabbit team's commander, politely ignoring the shouts that came back from Sodoko about her nickname.

Inside the now inoperable tank, a few groans gave away the shaken nature of the volleyball club; Mallard team had not been gentle with their gunnery. Isobu righted herself before getting the radio gear working.

"Looks like we're out of this one guys! Anteater, I want you to beat the Mallards. If our team doesn't have a _brain out_, we still have a chance! Erwin, the StuG's in command now," Isobu broadcast.

"Roger!" responded Hippo team.

"Ok," Anteater team acknowledged.

The volleyball club sat back in their tank to relax, gossiping about volleyball. Anteater team, on the other hand, was by no means as relaxed.

"Piyotan, try and hit the turret. We'll take this boss down easier if we hit their critical points, and then we can progress to the next opponent," ordered Nekota.

"I'll try Nekota. Momoga, can you get us closer? We can pierce their armour better at short range, and hopefully critical hit their tank for a knockout."

"All right then," replied Momoga, pushing the Chi-nu into a steady advance on the Renault.

"They're weak on the left hand side Momoga, see if you can get round their flank. Those big exhaust grills are a huge target, like the soft underbelly of a dragon," advised Nekota.

In response to the attempts of the type 3 to close with them, Mallard began a steady retreat, firing as they went. Now that the tanks were moving again, even if only at average pace, the shots of both teams were far less accurate. However, the distance was closing between the vehicles, as the faster Chi-nu began to outpace the Renault, easily making ground up on the retreating tank. As the distance closed to 150m, Piyotan took careful aim. The B1 was firing as fast as it could, hoping to keep Anteater team at bay while reinforcements arrived. Anteater didn't give them that chance, as Piyotan's shot lanced into the front armour just below the 75mm gun mounted in the hull, bringing the tank to a shuddering halt, as the little white surrender flag popped out the top hatch.

"Looks like the gamer girls got us, Miss Sawa," reported a rather dazed Sodoko, slumped in the bottom of her vehicle with the rest of Mallard team.

"Are any of you hurt?" asked Azusa, a hint of concern in her voice.

"A few scratches, nothing more,"

"I'm okay."

"Me too."

Azusa cut off the radio net, and addressed her crew.

"Karina, get us there as fast as possible. Ayumi, Aya, Saki, get the guns ready. Maybe we can sneak up on them while they're still celebrating…."

Meanwhile, the chase that had been occurring between Leopon team and Hippo team had petered out slightly, as the slow and temperamental Porsche having trouble keeping up with the StuG, which had vanished into the woods in the North-west of the battlefield. The mechanics had pulled some of their usual magic, fixing the Porsche while moving, and cautiously entered the woods looking for their smaller opponents. Hippo team, having lost the enemy for the moment, were concentrating less on the pursuing enemy, and more on how to defeat the remaining tanks of team 1.

"I think we should link up with Anteater after leaving Leopon lost in these woods. If we move fast, it could be like the timely arrival of Longstreet at Antietam!" declared Erwin, "Oryou, get the Leopon team lost in these woods, and then get us rolling back to Anteater's position, at the double!"

The Sturmgeschütz roared off into the woods, beginning a tortuous and roundabout route back to the other remaining tank of team 2.

Sat on the ridge which they had occupied for the entire battle, Anglerfish team maintained a steady watch over the proceedings of the battle. Miho had been slowly analysing the movements of each team and the strategy behind each decision. Some of the leadership skills exhibited by both teams had been impressive. The switching of an ambush into a decoy operation by team 2 was a clever move, as was the isolation of the B1, but the lack of commitment to a close battle from the Chi-nu and the somewhat reckless assault of Duck team had meant that a tank had been lost when it could have perhaps been avoided. Similarly, the rash pursuit of the StuG by Rabbit and Leopon could have been cut shorter than it had been, allowing as it did the loss of Mallard. Overall, despite their flaws, each team was manoeuvring superbly and this had kept the attention of most of Anglerfish team, even Saori. It could not however be said that all of Anglerfish team was watching the match with rapt attention, because Mako was still asleep at the while.

Back on the battlefield, the other tank of team 2, the Chi-nu of Anteater team, had just regained their bearings following the protracted firefight that had just occurred. This was fortunate, because the report of a gun fewer than five seconds later heralded the arrival of Rabbit team. Sat atop the ridge on which the type 89 had been perched at the start of the battle, Rabbit team trained its guns on the Chi-nu, and let loose a volley of fire in their direction, trying to find range. Anteater team hurriedly pivoted their tank on the spot, and likewise aimed their 75mm gun back at the M3. The sloping terrain provided a slight challenge to aiming for the type 3, as a few degrees too high or low would cause the round to either fly over the M3 or claw out a great hole in the earth before the tank. A furious exchange of rounds ensued.

"Piyotan, remember we only have limited ammunition, so make sure to take your time and use them to best effect," advised Nekota.

"I'm trying, Nekota," responded the beleaguered gunner.

Further rounds whistled between the M3 and the type 3, having little to no effect. Sick of waiting, the M3 began to close the distance, speeding down the slope to confront the Chi-nu at shorter range. The hull-mounted gun on Rabbit team's vehicle belched out rounds constantly, one of them shredding the track guards, leaving the right side of the vehicle exposed.

"Karina, get us round their right side! We can smash their drive systems and take them out that way. Ayumi, Aya, aim for their tracks and we can finish this tank off!" ordered Azusa.

Turning to the wider strategic picture, Azusa sought out Leopon team.

"What's your current status, Leopon?"

"I think we lost the StuG, commander. They're just too fast," replied Nakajima in an apologetic tone.  
"Keep your eyes open, they may have been sneaky and got past you. If you need, get out of the woods. We'll stand more chance if we go in together."

In response to the order, Nakajima popped her head out of the turret cupola. Barring the sound of the engine in the Porsche, the woods were quiet. The StuG was nowhere to be seen, and could have been anywhere, lying in wait like the predator it was. Against the Tiger, it was still weak, but ambushes could render the power of the Tiger useless, its vulnerable back armour exposed to the powerful 75mm L48 KwK 40 gun of the StuG. A similar, slightly less powerful, L43 gun had illustrated its lethal efficacy in the finals the previous term, mounted on Anglerfish's Panzer IV, as the team had wrecked the Henschel built Tiger of Maho Nishizumi. At 100m, it could even go straight through the front plate of the well-armoured Tiger tank, if it could get that close. Nakajima was not going to let that happen, and decided discretion was the better move.  
"I think the StuG has given us the slip. Tsuchiya, get us out of these woods, we'll rendezvous with Rabbit and then we can smoke Hippo team out of whatever corner they're hiding in."

The Porsche Tiger pivoted on the spot, its cumbersome chassis slowly swinging through a full 180 degrees, and then trundled out of the woods it had been pursuing the StuG through moments before. Reporting the situation to Rabbit team, Leopon began a steady progress back towards the centre of the field, and their erstwhile teammates. Suzuki was sat on the rear of the tank, using the opportunity afforded by the slow speed of the vehicle to fix yet another issue with the unreliable prototype. The vehicle, cruising along at 15mph, well under its maximum speed, slowly made its way towards Rabbit team, fully intent on linking up and ending the battle as soon as possible.

A similar idea was passing through the minds of Hippo team, which had swung east, nearing Miho's position, before heading south again, back into the centre ground which had seen so much battle already. Sat high in the turret cupola, Erwin surveyed the battlefield ahead, the muffled thumps that could be heard from a distance serving to illustrate the continuing battle up ahead, as Anteater and Rabbit teams clashed head on. The StuG could potentially notch up another kill or two in the coming battle. Erwin grinned at the thought.

**Dauntless - Wellesley Academy**

Each team now affiliated with their vehicles, and well aware of the need for responsibility, Pearce and Chris each headed to their respective teams. The captain's team consisted of four male and one female cadet, including the captain himself. If one assessed the team from a purely visual standpoint, it is unlikely that an observer would be impressed, seeing them clustered around the vehicle haphazardly. A tall boy with darkish brown hair, Andrew Roberts, turned to greet his commander as he approached.

"So when do I get to drive it?" he asked eagerly.

"I never said you would be driving it, Andrew. That role is for Mr Nares, right Stephen?" responded Pearce, gesturing towards a blonde lad of average height and build.

The boy nodded, giving no verbal response.

"So where do I go? I better not be loading," whined Andrew.

"Got it in one, Mr Roberts."

"Aww, that's not fair!"

"How good are you on the gun? Or maybe driving? Last I checked, you could barely hit a target with a rifle, so I am not trusting you with the 88mm of this fine machine," said Pearce, "Plus, the loader is integral to the team. I wouldn't have chosen you if I didn't believe you had the aptitude for it, and that's something not many people can say they have." Pearce neglected to point out that it was because of Andrew's relative strength compared to the other members of the team that he was perfectly suited to load the heavy shells, not because of any particular talent.

Andrew was dumbstruck. He looked like he would burst with pride given the expression he pulled not five seconds later, and this gave the opportunity for another person to speak, as Andrew vanished into the tank with commendable speed. A petite girl, about 5'2", with brown shoulder length hair and soft features, addressed her captain.

"Sam, where am I going to be working?" she asked hesitantly.

Pearce turned and faced her, a rather more approachable expression on his face than his usual apathy. It was well known that of the few people whose company Pearce was willing to spend prolonged amounts of time in, Jo Reid was one of the people he trusted implicitly.

"Jo, you will be our radio operator and navigator," he said, before lowering his voice and leaning closer, "Plus, your company is appreciated, its cheers me up a little."

Jo looked surprised at the comment. It wasn't exactly an outpouring of emotion, but it was more than people usually got out of Pearce. She nodded and hopped up onto the vehicle. Pearce turned his attention to the last member of the team, perched lazily on the edge of the front armour plate. The final guy in the team, Liam Anderson, appeared to be half-asleep, his eyes lidded and weary. Medium height, with scraggly stubble and messy brown hair, Liam could probably have given Captain Taylor a run for his money in laziness.

"So I guess I'm gunning, Sam?" he drawled.

"Can't fault your logic there, Liam. You've got a good eye, when they're open, and an understanding of how the guns will work that gives those R&amp;D kids a challenge. So I want you on the 88mm of this Tiger tank. It's a superb weapon, so I needed someone who would use it properly."

Liam gave no response, instead getting up and vanishing inside the tank, evidently to laze around in his gunner's chair. Pearce shrugged. They certainly weren't the model tank crew, since they consisted of: an over-eager geek loader, a lazy otaku gunner, a tactiturn blonde driver, a cheerful brunette radio operator and an apathetic captain, but Pearce wouldn't have anyone else for his crew. These were the people he trusted most, and that was the most important thing.

Chris, on the other hand, had lazily wandered over to where his team was stationed, in front of their M10 Achilles. One of his crew was impatiently tapping their foot, a small blonde woman with short hair in a bob.

"We've been waiting ages! What happened, you fall asleep on the way here?" she hollered.

"I was just taking my time, getting lost on the road of life, that sort of thing. You shouldn't get so pent up Amy, it's bad for ya," replied Chris cheekily. Amy made to throw the nearest object at him, but her hand was caught by a taller blonde girl before she could throw the wrench at her captain.

"Amy, don't let him get to you. He should take his job more seriously, but it's no excuse to hit him. Plus, we need him to designate our positions before you do," she said.

"But sis, he's an idiot! He's late to everything, and he always mocks me, calling me 'little Katie', even though I'm as tall as Captain Pearce!"

"Ah, but Chris wouldn't call Sam little, mostly because he wouldn't get a response. Even if he did, it wouldn't be the verbal kind," the taller girl countered, turning her attention back to Chris "So, which roles are we taking in this tank?"

"I'm glad you asked, Hannah," said Chris. "I think you might be our gunner, cos you're calm and collected, while your sister is our driver, I do think. Maybe she can translate some of this aggression to manoeuvring this tank destroyer of ours."

This was an understatement on Chris's part. It was almost impossible to really annoy Hannah Stuart, while it seemed unreasonably easy to wind her sister Amy up. Their reactions to what Chris had just said illustrating this perfectly. Hannah merely nodded, while Amy went ahead and hit Taylor with the wrench.

Now nursing a small headache thanks to Amy, Chris turned to the other two members of the team, one a boy of medium height, a mop of blonde hair on his head, who was completely absorbed in what appeared to be a video game, while the other was a girl of above average height, and was scowling at the boy disapprovingly, her eyes hidden behind her glasses. Chris first addressed the guy.

"James, I know you're trying to complete your full pokedex, but dude, we're on duty. You don't see me drinking while I work do you now?"

"Sorry sir. It won't happen again Mr Taylor."

"Eh? Chris'll do if you don't mind. I don't need calling sir. But yeah, I wanted to tell you that you're our new loader," Chris informed him.

"Right! I'll get right on it, sir, I mean Chris," the boy replied, getting a tad flustered.

As he scrambled into the Achilles, Chris turned to the other girl, who was fiddling with her ponytail, which kept her mass of red hair out of her eyes.

"So, Olivia, can you guess what position you will be filling in our tank?" he asked cheekily.

She glared at him, as if daring him to carry on mocking, and without saying a word, went and manned the radio operator's position. Chris grinned. He picked a team that provide a load of amusement. He cast a sidelong glance at Clinton team, where 4 girls and one boy could be seen getting their vehicle prepped for motion, in a display of furious efficiency, directed by Katherine, their captain. Chris sighed.

"She'll never stop working too hard, will she?" as he sat down on the front of the tank, relaxing.

**Zuikaku Carrier - Oarai Academy**

The battle in the centre of the field was heating up even further now, the M3 having careened down the hill, trying to get round the flank of the Chi-nu. Nekota's team had responded to this by beginning to move too, and the tanks were now circling each other, trying to get an accurate shot into their foe, neither willing to stop and let their opponent hit a sitting target. Rabbit team was at somewhat of a disadvantage in this circling match, as their hull mounted cannon could not pivot far enough to hit the Chi-nu. Both commanders noticed this, Nekota making sure her tank stayed out of the fire arc, and Azusa trying to get the type 3 back into it. Deciding that enough was enough, Karina took the initiative, bringing the M3 to a crunching stop and pivoting very rapidly.

"Ayumi, take the shot!" she hollered.

The dark haired girl responded to this by firing off the 75mm gun towards Anteater team, to no effect. Seeing it miss, she slammed another round into the breech while the tank continued to pivot, and took careful aim.

As this was occurring, Piyotan was taking careful aim in the type 3. They were running out of ammunition slowly, having expended much of it in the furious fight with the Renault. Trying to compensate for the motion of the tank, she stared down her sights, trying to line up the shot.

"It's not like the game, so I have to compensate for bullet dip," she murmured, not really addressing anyone.

Both gunners fired, almost simultaneously.

Neither one of them missed their mark. The degree of damage on the other hand, was one major difference. Piyotan's round had hammered into the M3, sheering away some of the drive systems. It wasn't enough to knock out or even immobilise the tank, but Rabbit team weren't going anywhere at a pace beyond a crawl. Ayumi, on the other hand, had put her round right into the join where the turret met the chassis. The small white surrender flag and small amount of smoke indicated the result of that piece of marksmanship.

"Erwin, we got taken out! The enemy had too much DPS on our vehicle, but we ruined their speed stat, so they won't be able to evade you," reported Nekota over the radio.

"That's not great news, but you did well. No one is KIA in your AFV, right?" asked Erwin.

"We're all at full HP in here!" came the response of Anteater team.

In team 1, Rabbit team were in high spirits for a second, until Karina informed that the drive system was almost completely ruined. Pivoting at an agonising pace, Rabbit's Lee eventually faced the right way to rendezvous with Leopon, and the team began a slow, painful crawl towards their comrades.

"We've only got one more tank to get, right? That means we have a 2-1 advantage, not to mention the fact that Leopon's tank is bigger and stronger than Hippo's," said Aya, trying to reassure herself.

"But we don't know where they are, they gave Leopon the slip, so they could be anywhere," countered Yuuki.

"They'll come for us," said Saki, in her usual quiet tone. This ominous statement from the insightful girl did not reassure Rabbit team.

Nor should the statement have been reassuring. As Azusa rose up in the turret cupola, using the tall chassis of the M3 to best effect, she spotted an ominous shape of the horizon. It could certainly have been Leopon team, but unless the engineers had gotten radical with their modifications all of a sudden, the shape should have been somewhat larger, with a turret perched on top. Instead, a low, predatory shape was eating up the ground between themselves and Rabbit team. Bringing up a pair of binoculars, Azusa spotted a distinctive peaked hat and goggles peering out from the commander's seat. Definitely Hippo team, she thought, praying for the arrival of Leopon team before the StuG made it into effective range. Rabbit team attempted to increase the speed of their wounded mount, before a loud crunch told them that the drive system on the left had gone entirely. Defiantly wheeling around, the first year girls awaited the last stand that they inevitably would face.

"They've stopped dead, and much like Bibracte, the Romans now patiently await the onrushing Gauls!" declared Caesar.

"Can you stop using analogies where we take the role of the losing party?" asked Saemonza.

"I would compare it more to the battle of Arras, where the British tanks stopped and held the Germans, but only for a short while before they were routed back to Britain!"

"It could also be the battle of Domyoji, where Mototsugu awaited reinforcements who were heavily delayed."

The usual themes of argument continued within the confines of the assault gun, each party forwarding a different arena of history as the most apt for comparison. As the tank closed the range to the enemy, Hippo team got ready for battle. Completely untouched by the fighting thus far, having been little more than a decoy, Hippo began a furious bombardment the minute they reached effective range. The M3 returned fire, both sides' guns echoing loudly across the open field, littered already with the smoking shells of three other vehicles, their crews tentatively watching the fierce duel as the StuG closed in. The immobility of the Lee meant that should Hippo team get round the flank of Rabbit team, they could virtually pick them off at will, and this is what Oryou was doing, driving the assault gun flat out in a bid to quickly pick off one of the remaining two tanks on team 1, before locating and confronting the Tiger.

As the ranges closed between both tanks, shots began to glance off both tanks, inflicting minor damage to their hulls. Needless to say, this did not stop the StuG. Diving down the left flank of the M3, and hence negating the power of their 75mm gun, Hippo team came to a halt, and took careful aim. Lining up the shot, one eye closed as usual, Saemonza prepared to fire into Rabbit team at point blank range. The loud report of a gun echoed across the valley, and when the crews observed closely, both the StuG and the M3 were out of action.

Needless to say, several people were stunned, chief amongst them the crew of Hippo team. Looking behind their vehicle, they saw, emerging from the dead ground in which they had spent the first phase of the battle, was the unmistakeable form of the Tiger P, its 88mm gun still smoking. Erwin gaped at the reversal of their original position, slamming her hand down on the turret cupola.

Practice was over.

**There you have it! Chapter 2 is now finished, and a followup is not going to be forthcoming for some time. I have exams, so I'll say that Chapter 3 will be up about 13 June, if not a little before. Hope you enjoy this latest offering.**

**Reviews are always appreciated, as are favourites and follows. If you want to ask me about stuff, feel free to PM me.**

**Well, HereticalShinigami out. Peace!**


	3. Chapter 3: New Tankers!

**I know I said I would not be posting before about the 13****th**** of June because of my exams, but I had a little free time here and there. Here is chapter 3. Edit – I've removed some of the more outlandish elements that I'd put into this chapter and tried to streamline it a little bit.**

**Zuikaku Carrier – Oarai Academy – 1600hrs - Monday 12/Jan**

The tankery team arrived back at the tank sheds, weary but in high spirits, following a close practice session. The tanks soon followed, having been retrieved from the battlefield. This included the Porsche Tiger, which no less than 2 minutes after finishing off the StuG, had had another breakdown. Leopon team had merely shrugged this off, claiming they would fix it later, and it was better that the tank breakdown outside of battle than in it. Somewhat tentatively, Miho stood at the front to debrief the teams on their practice session. Somewhat tentatively, she addressed the assembled ranks of students.

"I thought you all did really well today. There was a lot of tactical thought and some really good skills were showcased," Miho began, seeing a slight improvement in demeanour from the girls as they registered her praise.

"Firstly, your starting strategies were sound. Team 1, you realised the heavier nature of your vehicles and planned around it, while Team 2, you anticipated a forward dash and created a clever ambush. But as you all noticed, no plan ever survives contact with the enemy, so you had to rethink once it did not go exactly as you wanted. Hippo team, for example, changed from an ambusher to a decoy role, leaving Mallard team exposed when Leopon and Rabbit chased them, which was an excellent idea."

Seeing Hippo team swell with pride at the comment, Miho went on to puncture their rising egos.

"However, by drawing out the M3 and the Tiger with the StuG, it left the most powerful gun in your arsenal exposed and incapable of returning fire, as the Assault III does not possess a turret. Had Leopon and Rabbit stopped to fire, or even been a little luckier, Hippo would have been knocked out far sooner. Leopon and Rabbit's pursuit could have been far less zealous, but the fact remains that it removed Team 2's foremost weapon for most of the battle."

Hippo team's slowly spreading grins stopped their relentless advance, and beat a hasty retreat into an expression of composure. Miho turned her gaze onto a different team.

"Mallard team, you followed orders, thought well on the spot, and bogged down two of the enemy's force in a battle of attrition. Plus, you took out the enemy commander, which would have severed their chain of command, and this is something which all of you should pay attention to. Beyond assurances of safety and good luck, you cannot continue with tactical talk once your vehicle is out of commission. Isobe, you did this at one point, and it won't go down well if we do it in a real match. Ducks, your rush may have helped the Chi-Nu take down the B1, but you were in command. Sometimes the best decision is not to engage if you have a pivotal role in the team. This goes for you too, Rabbit team."

Seeing no further criticism was needed, Miho decided to wrap things up.

"I was really impressed today. If we perform like this in the tournament, and try our best, we should be have another shot at winning it. Practice is over for today, so I'll see you tomorrow," she finished.

The assembled teams dispersed, splitting off and going their separate ways. The volleyball club, as per usual, headed towards the gym halls, while Mallard team walked back towards the main building, evidently to do whatever the Ethics committee did. The other teams split into smaller groups, evidently heading home. Anglerfish team, however, remained where they were, and looked expectantly at Miho.

"I'm going to go see if the student council have managed to get any equipment or new tanks for our team," she said.

"Well then, we're coming with you, Miporin," replied Saori.

"I'm interested to see what they secured. Maybe they got enough funding for a new tank!" exclaimed Yukari, excitedly anticipating the addition of new armour to the team.

The group of girls made their way back inside the main school building, which barring some of the many interchangeable hall monitor girls, was virtually empty. A short walk later and they reached the office of the student council, and entered to find the usual scene. Anzu was relaxing at her desk eating dried sweet potatoes, Yuzu was doing the paperwork, and Momo was standing there reading some documents.

"So, how did the team do?" asked Anzu, lazily munching at her snack.

"They aren't out of practice, definitely, and there's always room for improvement, but if we try our best, we have a chance at doing really well this term. Err, did you happen to get anything out of the headmaster?" queried Miho.

"The headmaster has refused to grant a large amount of funds towards the tankery club. He wants to see if we can perform again this term with the vehicles we have before he deems it a worthy investment. Nevertheless, he has allocated some funds towards the club for modifications to our existing roster," stated Momo, handing the documents she was holding to Miho, who scanned the contents.

"These funds aren't much, but we can get some guns in to mod some of the weaker tanks in our roster. Yukari, what are the possibilities with the weaker vehicles for non-standard modding?"

Yukari looked both excited, and a little mortified at the question, the prospect of modding vehicles to non-standard specs being a little disconcerting for her.

"Well, we already have the 37mm we took off the 38(t), so we could mount that in the turret of the type 89, and that should effectively double the armour penetration, with composite rigid rounds we can get a good 60mm off it at close range. I mean, we would be crossing two different nations' tanks, but it should be doable, and I know the mechanics would love to have a try. For some of our other weaker tanks, we could bring in other guns to complement them. In the B1, we could replace the 47mm they have with the Skoda vz.36, it's the same calibre, so it shouldn't overtax the tank, and it has slightly better AP. Similarly, we could put the type 5 75mm that Japan made towards the end of the war in the Chi-Nu. I know it works; the Japanese made a variant tank called the Chi-nu Kai, and the 75mm gun is pretty good against medium tanks. The M3 could perhaps get a 76mm into its hull mount, but the traverse will be a little worse, and the ammo will take up more space, so you'll have less of it. Those mods should make us more competitive in the competition by quite a factor," Yukari rattled off this fearsome list from her vast knowledge of tanks, looking a little embarrassed when she finished, having gotten really engrossed in her spiel.

Yuzu had ferociously noted down these modifications at a rapid pace, and passed the completed list to Momo.

"Well, I think we have enough to go on. We'll try to get these mods sorted before the tourney starts," said Momo, "I'll contact the mechanics and get them on that type 89 mod soon."

"Don't forget, we'll have the list of personnel and competitors appearing for those new academies soon, as well as the dates of any friendlies, and then the tournament draw itself," added Anzu, waving lazily as Anglerfish team made their way out of the office.

**Carrier Dauntless, Wellesley Academy – the next day – 0900hrs – Tuesday 13/01**

Hart looked out over the assembled ranks of his cadets on the drill ground. To his right, Pearce stood, immaculate in his uniform and implacable in his expression. The cadets were now ranked up by team, each commander at the head of their group, and each group distinctive in their style and demeanour. Hart had given them permission to dress down a little, so as to be comfortable while tanking, essentially giving formal acceptance to the quirks of some of the cadets, Pearce included. The captain was, as ever, swathed in a long military style coat, the black leather coat complimenting his attire. On his lapels was pinned a small Iron Cross, and round his neck, a pair of binoculars.

Other students were also dressed in a non-standard manner. The R&amp;D cadets, much like their captain, were wearing lab coats over their uniforms, soot stains on some displaying some perhaps over-zealous experiments. Russell team had taken to combat gear, still in the colour scheme of the academy, but far more loose and comfortable, as well as a blue beret to top it off, with the school's cap badge proudly displayed. One of the Churchill crews, Allenby team, were wearing a badge on their lapels, much like Pearce, but when Hart squinted, he realised it was a Maltese cross mounted on a shield. The other Churchill crew had not augmented their uniform, but Wavell team were all carrying identical books for some reason. The engineers were now in blue overalls, having discarded their neat pioneer uniforms in anticipation of getting a little bit messy on the job. Elliot in particular looked like he had been at it already, a few oil stains and a wrench indicating that he may have been working after class.

Hart cleared his throat to get the attention of the group.

"Since you got acquainted with your tanks yesterday, I hope you feel ready to drive them, because today, practice is going to begin in earnest. Our academy, in light of this team's lack of experience, has decided that we should have a friendly against another team before the tournament begins. Apparently, the other military academies are thinking along the same lines, so we will be taking on Kutusov academy in a week's time."

Hart paused, observing his cadets for any visible reaction. Casting his mind back to the plan he had created an hour before for the lesson, he began to outline the day's practice.

"Since we are mostly new to tankery, I thought it would be best to ease our way into the sport by going through practice drills, rather than fighting mock battles straight away. So, we'll start with some simple distance exercises to get the drivers used to rough terrain, some target practice to get the gunners going, and some speed gunnery to make sure the loaders get some experience. Through all this, I will be monitoring radio communications within the vehicles to check that the commander and radio op are doing their jobs. Then tomorrow, we'll be combining drills, and then we'll have a mock battle on Thursday, before repairs and light training on Friday. Ready?"

"Yes, sir!" came the immediate response.

"Good! Cadets, mount up!"

The cadets each broke ranks and headed to their respective vehicles. Hart cast his eyes across the vehicles, seeing that each was fully fixed and prepared, including the crashed Cromwell and the damaged Churchill. At least Hart knew what Elliot was up to earlier to have such stains on his uniform. The boy must have pulled an all-nighter just getting the tanks ready. The vehicles themselves looked a motley collection, primarily due to their differing paint schemes. The Churchill tanks, Cromwells and the Comet all possessed a matt green paintjob, whilst the M10 Achilles was furnished with dark blue paint. The M24 Chaffee was in a winter pattern colour scheme, and the Tiger 131 was in a desert colour palette, the Afrika Korps symbol prominent on its hull plate. Hart noted that it might be wise to match colours before fielding them in battle.

The sound of engines growling into life echoed around the courtyard, whilst the smell of petrol began to pervade the very air around Hart. A low rumble identified the rumble of the Tiger as it eased its way out of the garage and began movement towards the practice area. Further grumbles denoted the steady progress of the other vehicles they followed Pearce's lead. Evidently impatient, or just trying to show off, the M24 under Clark, and the M10 Achilles with Taylor overtook their compatriots and headed off into the rough terrain that awaited them. Hart headed over to another smaller garage, opening it and starting up the Willys jeep inside it. Tuning into the communications networks for the tanks, he set off in pursuit.

The vehicles assembled about half a mile into the wilderness zone in a haphazard skirmish pattern. Hart's jeep gingerly weaved between them and slewed around in front of the vehicles. Across the radio net, he outlined the first test: driving.

"This combat zone contains numerous features which will test your vehicles. I want everyone to attempt at least one circuit of the zone, taking whichever route you choose, just be careful of your vehicle's performance, because the idiosyncrasies of your tank will determine which route you can choose. I will monitor your progress while you do so. Start when you feel ready."

The first vehicle to charge off into the woods was the Cromwell of Russell team, roaring off at a terrifying speed into the imposing terrain. They were followed by the M24 Chaffee, a grim faced Clark at the helm, the M10, where Taylor almost looked asleep in his turret, and the Comet of the engineering crew. The other tanks were slightly more circumspect in their approaches, taking care as they moved out.

"Try to maintain a good constant speed Stephen, a balance of control and alacrity will yield dividends in rough terrain," advised Pearce, as the Tiger grumbled into the woods, its imposing bulk dominating most of the track, "I want to take us into the terrain at some point, sticking to the path will not be helpful in a match. Also, we need to work on manoeuvring at speeds, so when we have the opportunity we can move quickly."

"Sir," came the one-word response of the driver.

In stark contrast to the measured control of Montgomery team, Russell team was aiming to take the most direct route through the terrain, at the highest speed possible, so they could showcase their skills. A new lad, Kieran, was at the helm, and was a far more competent driver, but the team's strategy effectively rendered that moot. Careening off the path and into the forest, where they had effectively no vision, they crashed through a copse of trees, and straight into a pool of mud, where the tank stuck fast. Hawke swore and bashed his fist on the interior of the Cromwell, he knew Pearce would be less than happy to know what they had done this time.

"Right lads, want to see if we can shift 28 tonnes of tank?" he asked.

Managing a furious, if slightly more controlled pace, was the M10 Achilles. Amy, hot-headed as usual, wanted to prove just how good a driver she was, and had the tank destroyer rattling through the woods at a terrifying speed. Despite this, her captain appeared to be asleep, slouched back in his chair, a straw hat tilted over his eyes. Listening over his radio, Hart could hear little in the way of conversation on the tank's internal comms other than muttered expletives as Amy repeatedly corrected their course.

Another fast moving tank, the Comet, driven by the engineering team, was powering around the practice grounds with little difficulty. Elliot, sat up in his tank cupola now that they had cleared the woods for some more open ground, was pointing at differing terrains and offering routes to his driver, Isaac, reminding him of the capabilities of the vehicle. The rest of the tank's crew were having an animated discussion, anticipating which vehicles would be wrecked by their crews. None of them bet against Russell team being back in the garage for repairs this evening.

Still in the woods, and manoeuvring steadily through the trees, was the M24 Chaffee of Campbell team. Unlike the friendly banter going on within the Comet, there was strict radio silence within the light tank, save for the barked instructions of their commander, fully determined to prove her competence and superiority over the team captain. The Chaffee, going flat out, and strictly controlled, set a fast pace in pursuit of the engineers.

The Tiger was making good time despite its size. Stephen seemed to be able to move the heavy tank across all the terrains demanded of it, with a grace and ease expected more from a tank half its weight. Pearce had slowly begun to reduce the amount of advice he was giving to his driver, and instead let Jo take over the course correction so she could hone her map reading skills. He paused to wake Liam up, slouched as the boy was in his gunner's seat, before returning to planning for the confrontation with Kutusov.

**1100hrs**

Hart regrouped his cadets and their vehicles in the same clearing they had started the practice session in. Needless to say, he had not been surprised at how each team had performed in a variety of terrains. Those who had been the slowest were Allenby and Marlborough teams, although this was unsurprising given the tanks they were possessed of, the Churchill hardly being known for its speed. Roberts and Clinton teams had manoeuvred well, and communicated superbly, perhaps testament to their groups' cohesion. Russell team still looked a bit sheepish, due to requiring the rescue of their vehicle less than thirty minutes after the start of the session. Though Kieran had shown some driving talent, the gung-ho style of the sporty cadets did not bode well.

Aside from this, Hart was impressed. Each team had grasped the controls of their vehicle fairly quickly, and in their own styles, formed a group cohesion that could keep their vehicle running. Now to test their gunnery.

Gesturing towards a clearing in the eastern quadrant of the practice area, Hart outlined the next session.

"To get loaders and gunners used to their weaponry, you will start this exercise in a stationary position 1km away from your targets, and deliver ten rapid rounds at the target. We want speed and accuracy here, not just one or the other. You only carry finite ammunition in a battle, so it's better to take an extra second aiming and score an accurate hit than to fire fast and miss all the time. However, you can't take all day to aim, because the enemy is trying to hit you back. Then, you will be practicing firing on the move, which will require the drivers to maintain a stable yet speedy firing platform under the gunner, and the gunner to compensate for movement. Is that understood?"

A chorus of affirmatives greeted Hart, as Wellesley's team headed for the practice range. Lined up facing their individual targets, they laid down a fierce barrage at the marked targets, little more than mounds of dirt with boards laid over them. The two Churchill tanks, occupying one end of the line loaded and fired their 75mm guns at a rather steady pace, their captains not urging their gunners to work too hard. In fact, the captain of Allenby team, Liam, was sat up in his tank cupola reading. Pausing to watch one of his team's shots miss, he leaned back inside, and spoke to the crew.

"We become wiser by adversity, said Seneca. Just keep trying, and I'm sure you'll hit next time."

Allenby team, who had all been looking at their commander for a second, nodded and redoubled their efforts.

Next in the line was the Cromwell tank of Clinton team, whose commander had evidently infused some of her work ethic into her crew, as the vehicle threw out shot after shot, clipping the target frequently. The rounds weren't dead on the mark, but it was impressive accuracy for a kilometre distance shot, and the rate of reload was impressive. Seeing the hard work of Clinton team from his own adjacent tank, Chris sighed. The Achilles's large gun had only fired a few rounds thus far, and Hannah had missed or just clipped the target several times. She didn't say much, but Chris could tell she was getting frustrated.

"You're overcompensating every time you miss," he advised, "You only need to make small adjustments."

Hannah gave a small nod to indicate understanding, while her sister turned round in her driver's seat to shout at her captain.

"Well if it's so bloody easy, why don't you do it?"

"Nah, I'm not really feeling it at the moment," Chris replied, reclining in his seat.

Hannah slightly altered her gun sights, while James slammed another shell into the breech. The next shot, while not perfect, slammed into the target cleanly. Hannah had found her aim.

A tank that hadn't found its aim was the Cromwell of Roberts team. The scientists had lined up one shot, taken it, and then convened to account for ballistics to make sure the second shot was on target. Hart had resisted the urge to bang his head on the facia on the jeep when he had tapped into their radio net. At least, he thought, if they become more proficient at doing the calculations, their accuracy would be terrifying.

Being a tad more practical than their scientific comrades, the engineering team in Hobart's Comet were scoring a few hits. Their understanding of their own vehicle contributed hugely to their performance, and as a result they maintained a decent speed of reload, with a high percentage accuracy. This certainly did bode well for the future, especially with more practice.

Certainly, one team that could use more practice was Russell team. Despite their setback earlier, they still seemed determined to one-up everyone on the team, and as a result had tried to fire of all their rounds incredibly quickly. Certainly, they managed that easily enough, but with only 2/10 on the mark, they needed a lesson in restraint. Tanks only carried a finite number of shells, and with no resupply trucks, Russell team would have now been redundant on the field.

Sat between Russell team and the ominous bulk of Montgomery team's Tiger, the diminutive M24 Chaffee had similarly expended their rounds, but had carefully laid their gunnery beforehand, and taken time to readjust their gun after each shot. As a result, they had a respectable total of hits, but their accuracy still was average at best.

Finally, firing carefully placed and spaced shots, the Tiger occupied the end of the line. The 88mm gun fired comparatively slowly, but their gunnery was superb. Liam had lined his gun sights up with reasonable precision for a novice and repeatedly placed those shots into his own target. Pearce, sat high in the turret, observed the firing of each round with an impassive visage. Rate of fire could be worked on, and his loader and gunner were cooperating, although Liam could be more energetic. He had nothing to correct his crew on, so settled back to watch their performance.

**1630hrs**

Hart had put the teams through additional paces, such as firing on the move and camouflage drills, which the cadets had taken to quickly. There were some rough edges, but as he assembled them outside the garages, where their vehicles were now parked, he reckoned they had done well for one day's full practice.

"I'm quite proud of how you have performed today, you're showing some real progress. There's obviously some rough edges, but with practice we can get them overcome. So, class dismissed."

He let the teams leave, each returning to their appointed dorms on the carrier. Some of the teams drifted away in groups, Hobart team remaining to do some engineering work. Hart watched as Taylor, Reid and Armstrong asked Pearce if he wanted to have some dinner with them, but he politely declined. Instead, once they had left, Pearce came over to Hart.

"Sir, do you happen to have a map of the area we will be taking on Kutusov in?" he enquired.

"I might do. It should be in my office if it is, come with me and we'll go get it."

The pair strolled into the main staff building on campus after a short walk. Hart was a little uncomfortable with the silence, but a swift glance at Pearce showed that he wasn't in a talkative mood. Come to think of it, he never really saw Pearce in a very talkative mood. Regardless, he decided to break the silence with a fairly mundane question.

"Which college are you in in the academy?" he asked.

Wellesley academy, being a military institution, was a smaller carrier, almost without a civilian population. The students were split into a collegiate system, comprised of six different colleges each named after noble titles, with each assigned different quadrants of residence instead.

"Emperor," came the short response from Pearce.

"That college is the rearmost one on the carrier isn't it?"

"It is. Quite quiet as well."

"Do you like the peace and quiet?" asked John, hoping to coax more out of the cadet.

"It's preferable to noisier dorms. I would not want to live with Russell team in Duke. Particularly the shared canteens and facilities."

Hart considered this for a second, arriving at his door and fumbling around for his key.

"Why? Do you enjoy reading, drawing, other more solitary activities?" queried Hart, hoping to learn something about his student.

"I like a good book, sir," replied Pearce, clearly heralding the end of the conversation.

Fortunately for Hart, he had reached his desk and began to search through his top drawer, locating a small file labelled 'tankery venues'. He searched through until he pulled out a canvas map. Handing it to Pearce, he dismissed him quickly, not much closer to knowing anything about the bespectacled student.

**1645hrs**

Pearce opened the front door to his quarters, removing his jacket after he passed the threshold. In part of the quietest block, and one of the few self-catered students, Pearce's rooms were of a moderately large size. Three rooms, a kitchen, bathroom and a bedroom all connected onto a small central area with a television. The rooms were spotless, although the Spartan nature of the central area was kept belied the lack of guests visiting. The bedroom, on the other hand, was more homely. A computer was tucked into the corner near his desk, and a shelf of books sat above a collection of militaria, ranging from medals to hats. A small rack adjacent to this mounted a shortsword, above which sat another shelf, full of CDs. In the final corner sat a large case, evidently denoting a musical instrument.

Having removed his boots after entry, Pearce took the map Hart had given him and placed it on his desk. He had just sat down when he heard a knock at the door. Pearce stood up, giving a small sigh, and opened the door to Chris.

"Yes?"

"I knew you'd be here. Come on, man, you have to relax at some point. What are you doing, planning for the match? That can wait, the match is in a week right, and it's only a friendly. Why don't you come for a drink with me, Jo and some of the others?"

"We are winning that match, Chris, and I intend to make sure our plan is perfect. Drinking is not conducive to that result," Sam replied, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice.

"You're too serious. Look, I know you don't like to be open to people because of what happened before, but we care about you man, and I don't like to see ya sat all alone all the time."

Pearce actually had the grace to look even a little touched.

"Maybe another evening, Chris."

"I'll hold you to that man. Have a nice evening, and don't work too hard," said Chris, backing out of the door and waving a lazy goodbye.

"You too," said Pearce, shutting the door and returning to his desk.

Pearce glanced over to a picture sat on his shelf, just in front of his books. It depicted two smiling twelve year-olds in front of a museum, one clearly Pearce, the other a girl. Pearce was wearing quite a distinctive hat on his head as he stood there, a huge grin on his face.

"Maybe I'll see you again, not that you'd care," he muttered, lying the picture down and returning to his work.

**End Chapter**

**Character Highlight: John Hart.**

A 28 year old instructor in theoretical warfare at Wellesley academy, John is considered a prodigy by many. He is however, a pure theoretician and as a result has no field experience, something which some veteran staff consider to be a handicap. Of moderate height, lean and highly nervous, John is a somewhat strange instructor for the Tankery team, but he tries his best. The tacit support, or at least acknowledgement of both the Academy's headmaster and the team captain has bestowed some confidence on John, and he is determined to get the best out of his pupils.

**Wellesley Academy – Spotlight**

Wellesley Royal Military Academy is a British institution which caters to the military training of cadets from the ages of 16 to graduate level. This will be the first year Wellesley and its three counterparts from other nations compete in the 'high school' tier of Tankery, although it competes beyond that level already. The school and mixed gender and more militarised than St Gloriana, another British style school, having virtually no civilian population on board its carrier, _Dauntless._ The school is immensely patriotic and promotes respect, but not always fair play in pursuit of victory. The academy is split into 6 colleges: Emperor, Prince, King, Duke, Baron and Knight, which vary in accommodation and students. Wellesley teaches an array of subjects including the standard curriculum but also branches out into martial arts, weapons handling, military theory and other such militaristic courses.

Academy motto: "Si vis Pacem, para Bellum" – If you wish for peace, prepare for war

Academy anthem: Milanollo march

**Here you are! Another chapter completed, and another step closer to actual battle. I hope you are getting on board with my characters, and I'm starting to do highlights on some of them so you get a little more about who they are and what I've added in. I appreciate a nice constructive review now and then as well. See ya next time!**


	4. Chapter 4: Senior Sportsmen

**So I took up World of Tanks – bad move. Spend most of my time raging at why they put tier 3 light tanks into tier 5 games. Note that a KV-1 will not be hurt by a 38t, no matter how much GUP can contest it.**

**One of the reviews I received for last chapter asked me to clarify why my cadets were drinking. Well, in Britain, where both I and the academy are from, the legal age for consuming alcohol is 18yrs of age. Pearce, and the majority of his fellow cadets are of this age. I know some people might think this fic is progressing slowly, but I think I need to develop my characters a little before I throw them into the tournament, as well as give them some practice in their vehicles. One other point that was made was that I seem to use captain for both Pearce and Hart. Pearce is the team captain, and Hart is an actual captain, so it might happen. Blame military terms and a lack of distinction.**

**Anyway, here is my next chapter. Enjoy.**

**14 Jan – Wednesday – Carrier Dauntless, Wellesley Academy – 0900hrs**

The third day of practice was overcast and somewhat dull, with a chance of rain later in the day and a biting wind sweeping the deck plating. This denoted that Wellesley academy was docked in its home port, having arrived late last night, and Britain's typical weather was beginning to get to them. Some of the cadets had coats on over their uniforms to keep the cold out, and their instructor had done the same, donning a waterproofed coat with the academy crest over his heart. Pearce had augmented his gear with a pair of black leather gloves. As Hart took his place in front of the formation of students, a collective crash of boots slamming together signalled the students coming to attention, each ramrod straight with arms by their sides.

"Good morning students," greeted Hart, receiving a chorus of greetings in return.

"Since yesterday was to get you acquainted with basic functions of the vehicles, today is to introduce the actual skills of tanking to you. I gave you a series of set ranged targets yesterday to practice firing and reloading, but today we are upping the ante. You will have to contend with both fixed and moving targets, which will return fire on you should you miss or be too exposed. These targets are none other than our senior students, who have graciously volunteered to help today, as they are back from shore leave."

Hart gestured towards the sheds marked as used by the seniors, some of which opened slowly to reveal some of the academy's senior team, each garage no longer empty. Three Churchill MkVII tanks, two Sherman fireflies, four Cromwell tanks and a lone Centurion Mk1 occupied the sheds. A tall black haired boy emerged from the shed containing the Centurion, evidently the team leader for the seniors, and strolled over to Hart.

"Some of you may be well acquainted with James Agnew, our captain amongst the seniors. I contacted him for advice on setting up practice drills and he kindly offered to assist us in training you guys up for the league. My counterpart instructor, Major William Thomas, will be returning this afternoon and may join us as well. I'll let James fill you in on this drill," Hart finished.

The 21yr old senior surveyed the assembled cadets with a critical eye.

"Today, as Captain Hart has said, will test your ability to manoeuvre, take accurate shots and hit moving targets. Basically, our tanks will disperse across the combat zone and act as sentries, so we won't be hunting you directly, but will be patrolling the entire practice area, some sat still and some following prescribed routes. Your job is to take our vehicles out, or avoid being taken out. If you want to take away a lesson form this drill, I advise you not to hide for its duration or you will learn next to nothing. We will do this drill several times today, interspersed with standard target practice, which will help build your range-finding ability. So, if you'll give us 20 minutes to set up, and Captain Hart sends you in at 0930, we can get this underway."

The slightly broad accent of the senior gave away his origins in the north of England, his brusque tones carrying to all the assembled cadets.

"That should do nicely, James. We'll see you in the combat zone," said Hart.

Agnew nodded, and jogged back to his vehicles, barking orders to his crews as he did so. Pearce picked up something about 'schooling these rookies', and determined to ensure he succeeded in this drill. Being belittled by Agnew was not something that Pearce found amusing, and the arrogant senior needed to learn that.

Hart did a quick assessment of each vehicle in both teams. The senior team possessed the Mk1 Centurion tank, a fearsome tank that was only just finished before VE-Day. A design for a 'universal' tank, the Centurion possessed fearsome armour on its turret, 152mm thick, although its hull was somewhat less threatening at 76mm on the front, although heavily sloped, and 38mm on the sides and rear. The Mk1 also had a 17 pounder gun as its primary weapon, a fearsome weapon often given to tank destroyers. While not necessarily as fast as most tanks, as it was the primary incarnation of the vehicle, the Centurion was a dangerous foe. Both teams possessed A27M Cromwell tanks of the MkV category, equipped with welded hulls and a 75mm gun. The armour, roughly equivalent to a Sherman's in thickness, but unsloped, was 76mm on the front, but applique plates could be welded onto the hull if necessary, which could be later gambit for the Wellesley cadets. A powerful medium tank, the Cromwell sat low to the ground, and its Meteor engine gave it a dangerous speed, so much so that the gearbox had to be toned back to prevent suspension damage. They would be the mainstay of Wellesley's forces. The upgrade to the Cromwell, the Comet, was driven by Hobart team, and although slightly slower, it carried a 77mm HV (High Velocity) gun and similar armour to the Cromwell, yet sloped.

The Churchill MkVII provided the armoured 'heavy corps' of the Wellesley brigade. At 152mm thick on the front, and 95mm on the sides and turret rear, the armour plate on the cumbersome Churchill tank was fearsome, supplemented by a 75mm gun. For firepower, the senior team possessed the Sherman Firefly. A British modified tank, which mounted a 17 pounder gun in the chassis of the original American Sherman, the tank possessed fearsome firepower, although the blinding flash and recoil of the main gun earned the tank its nickname by blinding the crew every time it fired. A sloped 76mm glacis plate protected the front armour, but otherwise the tank was average in speed and manoeuvrability. It fulfilled the role of sniper in the tank team. For the junior team, the M10 Achilles was the sniper, using the same gun as the Firefly. With only 57mm of frontal armour, the Achilles was vulnerable, but it was possessed of a good turn of speed and rapid manoeuvrability, allowing it to escape dangerous situations swiftly. The junior team also possessed an M24 Chaffee, which would be useful as a scout, but still possessed the firepower of a Sherman with a 75mm gun. It had to rely on its speed to survive fire, with only 38mm maximum armour.

Hart's attention finally swivelled to the final tank available to his teams, the Tiger 131. A towering behemoth, although admittedly not the largest or most powerful tank fielded in the war, the Tiger was a fearsome sight. Capable of 45km/h, despite weighing 54 tonnes, the Tiger had a fair turn of speed. The 88mm in the front of the tank was a precision weapon capable of wrecking a Sherman at a 2km range, while the tank itself possessed a 100mm thick front plate of maraging steel, which while not sloped, could stop all but the most powerful of munitions dead. Sadly, the Tiger was a complex beast and required regular maintenance to keep running, although it seemed that this would not be an issue with the engineers present. The instructor had to conclude that the variety and number of vehicles available to Wellesley was superb, although being a military academy and having a senior team certainly helped in that regard.

By this point the senior team had moved their tanks, and so the junior cadets each headed to their vehicles, checking them over quickly to ensure full functionality, and calling over Elliot if they found any faults. Settling into his commander's chair, Pearce reached for his transmitter. Clipping it on, he quickly assembled all of the other teams onto the same wavelength so they could communicate.

"Our instructor laid out this exercise as a survival mission against the seniors, each tank for themselves. However, he did not explicitly forbid cooperation between teams. I think that may have been deliberate. If we consider that even set to fixed routes and responses, the seniors will be communicating between each other, and we could find ourselves picked off individually. I for one want to beat them, even if it is only a small victory."

"Where are you going with this Pearce?" came the irritated voice of Clark through the radio.

"We should work together. Better to fight coordinated than divided."

"I'm guessing that would be coordinated under your command? I'll take my chances," replied Clark, before cutting the radio contact.

"Anyone else not happy with me leading?" queried Pearce calmly.

"No issues here," said Elliot.

"Lead on, Sam," responded Chris in his usual drawl.

The other teams also affirmed their willingness to cooperate, Russell team a little begrudgingly. They evidently thought teamwork reduced the potential for glory.

"Superb," radioed Pearce, "We'll split into two tank teams, Wavell and Russell, Montgomery and Clinton, Hobart and Allenby, and Marlborough and Roberts. Taylor, Rowley, Armstrong and Jones will be commanding each of these teams. If we sweep areas together, have more chance of knocking each tank out. Watch out for the Centurion though, that tank has a 17 pounder gun and over 100mm of armour. You'll either need to be in close or leave it to the Tiger, Comet or Achilles. Ready?"

As each tank team voiced their approval, Hart smiled. Sat in the jeep he had used the previous day, he was listening in on the communications of each team. At least Pearce had picked up on that deliberate loophole in the rules, and the team's willingness to follow orders, barring Clark, promised potential for the upcoming matches.

Once the seniors were in place, Hart signalled for the tanks to roll into the practice area. The Chaffee disappeared into the woods first, while each team pair spread out so as to cover the practice zone. Heading into the practice area from the west gate, Wavell and Russell team took the extreme north, Montgomery and Clinton south of them, with Hobart and Allenby adjacent to them, and Marlborough and Roberts covering the right flank. The aim was to sweep west to east, encountering and destroying the patrols one by one. Pearce had no doubt that when the seniors lost several tanks in quick succession they would turn this drill into a practice match, retaliating with full force. Pearce had observed that Agnew had the general air of a man who did not take defeat well about him, so dismantling his drill and then destroying his team would be enjoyable, as well as taking his ego down a peg or two. It would obviously have the double effect of boosting his own reputation as well, but Pearce was more concerned by the morale of his team. If they won, even in an asymmetrical situation, it would give them a confidence boost for the first round.

"Begin advance," he radioed.

**(The Duke of York's march)**

From their starting position on a slope in the north, Wavell team began to move. Russell team went in front of the Achilles, using their superior armour to cover the tank destroyer. Adjusting their course slightly to avoid a copse of trees, they drew to a halt as they discovered the first obstacle: one of the Churchills, idling in the dead ground. Hurriedly reversing back behind the copse, Russell team radioed Wavell team, still halfway back up the slope.

"They're dug in to some low ground, facing at about a right angle from our position. I reckon we can take em, they should be slow on the traverse in that Churchill right? I'll get behind them and pop a round in the back of that lumbering hunk of scrap."

"Sure, but be careful, they might expect it, so be sure you can hit it and take it out," responded Chris.

Russell team had already gone. Pushing their Meteor engine to the limit, they hurtled down the slope. Spotting the enemy as soon as they made their rush, the Churchill steadily rotated towards its target, but the Cromwell was faster, getting round the back of the Churchill with relative ease, giving Jake, the gunner, ample time to place a shot. Sadly, their emphasis on speed in the previous day's training had left a mark, and the Cromwell slammed a shot into the turret, which had nearly finished its turn towards them, and the round ricocheted away. Fortunately for the team, Wavell team was neither over-zealous nor inaccurate, having rolled down the slope into position with care. Hannah fired the 17 pounder straight into the rear armour at a 400m range. Needless to say, the tank was knocked out, a small white surrender flag emerging from the hatch.

"Nice one, I'll buy ya a drink later for that, and any others you get today," offered Chris.

"I'd rather not," replied Hannah.

Amy was somewhat less polite.

"Hey! Stop flirting with my sister! What would Katherine say if I told her?" she shouted.

Chris visibly paled at the thought. Turning his attention back to the task at hand, he radioed a knockout confirmation to the other vehicles and then began organising his team.

"You realise that a second or so later and you'd have been history, yeah?"

"Shut up! We could have taken them," came the indignant response of Russell team.

Chris rolled his eyes.

"Troublesome."

The sound of gunfire had galvanised Clinton team into action, Katherine having apparently decided that the steady pace they had been setting was not acceptable. However, achieving a higher speed was somewhat difficult without leaving behind Pearce's Tiger, which was making only an average speed at best up the hill they were attempting to climb. Deciding to forge ahead, Katherine's Cromwell crested the ridge to spot two of the Cromwells patrolling an open area, making looping courses about half a mile in length. Shuffling into a tall bush to avoid detection, Katherine decided to consult Pearce.

"There are two Cromwells patrolling in the open ground, covering each other. They'll be difficult shots at the distance we are at if we want to stay concealed. What do we do?"

"I put you in charge Katherine, so you can tell me. To offer some advice, the Cromwell will struggle against the front armour of my vehicle, but if they can get behind the Tiger, they'll have me dead to rights, but their gun is still a little on the weak side to take me on. Keep scanning the field, I doubt that two unsupported Cromwells are willingly being so exposed without backup nearby," Pearce offered.

Katherine continued to scan the field, which was bordered on three sides by hedgerows, loose enough for tanks to roll throw, and on the other edge, a small stream, 10m across, which was fordable. In the hedgerow opposite, she picked out a small cylindrical object. A muzzle brake. Evidently, one of the Sherman fireflies was concealed within the hedgerow, and the overly long barrel on the vehicle was just peeking out from amidst the foliage.

"I see the beginnings of a barrel, it must be one of the fireflies. I don't think we can take them easily without support," she said.

"Then perhaps Hobart and Allenby team might lend a hand?" offered Pearce.

Calling the Comet and the Churchill from their nearby allies, Katherine began to lay down a plan of attack. Hobart and Allenby would advance until parallel with the firefly, on the other side of the stream, and the engineers would use their speed to bear down on the sniper tank, while the Tiger knocked one of the Cromwells out at a distance with its main gun. Clinton team would flank left to complete the trap. Then, all teams would converge on the final vehicle, hoping to prohibit its escape. With any luck, they could catch the sentries off guard and knock them out.

Shifting through the rough terrain that comprised their section of the practice zone, Hobart and Allenby teams encountered no other vehicles, presumably because the rolling terrain seemed prohibitive to a tank advance. Reaching his designated start point, Elliot took out a pair of binoculars and observed the field. If he could get enough speed going, the Comet would be flying along by the time they reached the stream, giving them enough momentum to charge towards the firefly and catch it before it turned towards them.

"Right guys, when we get the signal, we need to put the pedal to the medal. Get the first round loaded, and then once Isaac gets us in position, I want Lucy to put a round right into its back plate," Elliot told his crew.

"Elliot, what happens if this plan doesn't work?" asked Luke, as he placed the shell into the receiver.

"Well, we might be in for a bad time," Elliot replied nonchalantly.

A similarly nonchalant attitude was taken by Allenby team in their vehicle; the only sign of serious commitment being that Liam had put down his book for the time being, and was instead helping his team plot its attack path.

The Tiger shifted slightly within the bushes, its 88mm training steadily onto one of the Cromwells which was traversing the field in front of them, while Clinton team moved behind their hedgerow to find a good position for their assault. Waiting for the point that the two senior team tanks passed each other, the teams tensed up. Once that moment occurred, the tanks sprang into action. Hobart team roared down the ridge they were perched upon, splashing straight through the stream and heading for the firefly, which slowly reacted to the threat approaching from the flank. Pushing the Meteor Mark III as hard as it could go, Hobart team got behind the firefly, which was slowly pivoting on the spot, and lined up their gun. The shot sheared away track links on the firefly's right side, but did not take the target out, and so the ominous long barrel of the firefly continued to pivot, forcing Hobart team to move.

"Shit!" swore Isaac as he manoeuvred the Comet round to the side of the Firefly, avoiding the turret.

"Keep going, we just need a solid hit," said Elliot.

At the same time, the report of a powerful weapon from the other side of the field signalled the commitment of the Tiger to the battle. A smoking crater appeared in front of one of the Cromwells, enough to hamper its movement, causing it to slew slightly to the side and lose velocity. A second round from the heavy tank then ploughed straight through its armour, knocking it out.

"Nice hit!" Andrew congratulated Liam, as he placed another 88mm round into the receiver.

"Keep it up," said Pearce.

"But it's so much effort, I don't wanna," replied Liam jokingly, slouching as he retargeted the turret onto the remaining Cromwell.

Allenby and Clinton teams, having taken position on each side of the field while the skirmish had taken its opening stages, emerged from the hedgerows, and began to fire towards the remaining Cromwell of the seniors. The Cromwell decided to go and support its partner, rather than fleeing as anticipated. Shots fired by the Tiger, Churchill and Cromwell all missed, gouging great divots into the earth, but otherwise falling short for fear of hitting their own ally, engaged up ahead. This gave the Cromwell opportunity, however, to train their gun on the Comet, which was evading the firefly's slowly rotating turret. Their shot, which would have been far more likely to kill when stationary, hammered into the Comet's left side, crushing the rearmost wheel on the tank. This did however, make the Comet stationary, and gave Lucy the chance to place a single round directly into the Firefly, knocking it out.

The senior tank then made good its escape, pushing their tank off to the east as fast as possible, most likely to find their commander.

"After them, we can't let them escape!" ordered Katherine, angry that one of the enemies had managed to escape.

"I advise caution," said Pearce.

"Why? We could definitely take them in a straight up fight."

"If we were to pursue them we could be drawn into an ambush, so I would advise we wait. There are still 7 enemy tanks out there, two of them well equipped to pick us off at a distance if we don't watch out, and we seem to have three operational vehicles at the moment. Elliot, how are you doing over there?"

"We're out of it. The idler wheel is completely shredded. If it was just the track, we could replace it, but we don't carry spares for the actual wheels at the moment. We might be able to in actual matches though, sorry about that," confirmed Elliot.

"You did your best Elliot, it was just rotten luck that you took that hit. Cancel the last order, we should regroup," said Katherine, "Allenby team, you're coming with us since your partner tank is out."

"Yes, ma'am. It would have been foolish of us to go alone, for while fortune favours the brave, temerity is not always successful, as Livy said," responded Liam.

"Furthermore," began Pearce, now broadcasting to all crews, "I believe that Agnew will not take the defeat of his tanks by ours so easily, and will endeavour to bring us down. I am now issuing a general order to all crews to converge on HF 109, where our current battle has just been concluded. Our forces will set up an ambush to catch the senior team, and even if I have misread our opponent, we will have lost nothing, for he will still be adhering to the rules of this practice session. All crews converging on our position, I expect you to wait a way off, out of sight, and I assume the rest will be obvious when the time comes."

Whilst the large skirmish had been ongoing, the M24 Chaffee of Campbell team was pursuing its own course across the south of the battlefield. Following a similar path to the one Allenby and Hobart teams had adhered to before they joined with Pearce and Armstrong, they sought to use the terrain, which would be more difficult to traverse for tanks heavier than theirs. However, having followed their tortuous path to its conclusion, they peered down from a wooded ridge to see an open plain to a large iron bridge, followed by another fairly open plain which tapered off into woods. To their right, on the flat ground, was the road that led to the bridge, curving steadily round the rough ground.

"What do we do, Angie? That's pretty open ground there, we could be spotted and get taken out," asked Louise, the Chaffee's loader.

"We heard fire a way off. I have to assume that was that arrogant bastard Pearce and his crews, trying to show us up. They might have drawn the enemy away from us. So I reckon we can just go for it, we're a small target and a fast one at that. Plus, we can prove how much better we are than the others, so full ahead," ordered Clark.

"But, Angie! What happened to being sneaky?!"

"I don't care, get this crate rolling!"

The Chaffee roared over the ridge and straight down the slope, heading straight for the bridge at top velocity, a small dust cloud in its wake. The tank crossed the plain rapidly, eating up the distance between themselves and the safe haven represented by the far woods. As the Chaffee hit the bridge, a shot lanced out from those very same woods, narrowly missing the little tank. The bright muzzle flash gave it away as another Firefly.

"Shit," vocalised Clark, eloquently summarising their situation, "Keep going! Cross the bridge and head off to the right. If we stop moving, we're screwed!"

"Then don't worry, Miss Clark. Right chaps, let's deploy and support our allies," another voice cut in on the radio, belonging to Simon, leader of Marlborough team.

Proceeding down the road near the Chaffee's original position was the unit composed of Marlborough and Roberts teams. The Churchill had taken the lead position, due to its thick frontal armour, and they evidently intended to confront the enemy in support of Campbell team.

"We don't need your help!" shouted Clark indignantly.

"If you would prefer us to withdraw so you can confront that Sherman by yourself, feel free to say so, but occasionally the knight needs the support of a peasant to win his battles," said Simon evenly.

"Fine, just don't get in our way," ordered Clark, "Girls, get the tank running round the side of the Sherman. Take a wide route, with any luck those idiots in the Churchill will become their new target."

The Chaffee took a wide route around the Sherman across the open plain, while the Churchill and the accompanying Cromwell crossed the bridge at top speed. The firefly fired again at the Chaffee, the backwash from the shell fire actually setting the brush on fire around the tank, outlining its position to the teams. The Churchill began to fire towards the smouldering foliage as it moved, while the Cromwell of Roberts team scampered out from behind the larger tank to the left of the plain. The Firefly's turret began to rotate towards the Churchill, evidently deciding on hitting the biggest target first, the APDS rounds carried being more than powerful enough to breech the armour of the Churchill. Seeing this, the Churchill began to weave slightly, to make aiming a little more difficult, which was rewarded when the next shot arced past their left flank.

Even as the tanks closed in, the Sherman did not retreat, evidently because the crew knew that they could not outpace and evade the two lighter tanks of the party, and so were resigned to fighting as best they could before being knocked out. The lush greenery that had surrounded the tank became pitted and scarred as shells from the Wellesley teams, and a light smoke drifted up from where the 17 pounder had burned the tank's cover.

The Chaffee came to a stop roughly 50m from their target, facing the Sherman's side armour. Training their gun sights onto the vehicle's left flank, the 75mm on the Chaffee spoke, but gouged a divot into the ground just short of their target. This allowed the Firefly to fire one more round at the steadily closing mark VII, which snapped the front right track segment of the tank and sheared a track guard away with a rending screech. Sadly, that was all the Firefly could do, as it was then hammered from either side by the Cromwell of Roberts team, which had arrived on the Sherman's right flank, while the Chaffee fired from the left. Who had actually hit the Firefly was impossible to determine, but needless to say once the smoke cleared, the tank was a wreck.

Following the battle with the four Wellesley teams, the fleeing Cromwell covered ground quickly, heading east towards the position of their team leader and his Centurion tank. On arrival, having broadcast their imminent presence, they were berated by their team captain, who was sat amidst a quartet of tanks. With the reinforcement of another Cromwell tank, that gave Agnew two Cromwells, a Firefly, a Churchill and his Centurion to counter the Wellesley teams under Pearce. One other Cromwell was still in the field as a sentry. Even with the handicap of being sentry groups, Agnew was enraged that there had only been one enemy knocked out at the price of four of his tanks.

"Right! Anders, get your vehicle over here now!" he broadcast to the remaining sentry, "This upstart thinks he can outdo me, and I won't stand for it. We're gonna counterattack straight at his position and take him out, and all of his little strike teams after that. All teams, we're going to sweep towards Pearce's last position, that Tiger can't have gotten far," ordered James.

With a collective affirmative, the senior team headed out to confront their junior rivals, a roar of British made engines and the smell of petroleum filling the air.

"My plan is simple. My vehicle shall be the bait. It's hardly a stealthy tank, and I fancy the desert camouflage may not blend too well with the terrain anyway, even if we did get the drop on the other seniors. The length of the field effectively prohibits my being sniped by the Firefly. I want you Liam, on my right, and Katherine on my left, hidden behind the foliage to support me when the time comes. On the left, waiting for the signal, will be Russell and Wavell teams, waiting for the right moment, and to counter any flank attacks. Over the ford to the right will be Roberts and Marlborough teams, once Simon gets his track fixed. We will draw the enemy in and –…" Pearce began to lay his plans out, but was cut off near the end.

"What about my team!?" came an angry voice through the transmitter.

"Well Miss Clark, since you declined to follow me at the start, I hadn't given thought to where I was placing your team. Would you like to follow my orders again?" asked Pearce evenly.

"Be damned to your authority, just tell me where to go, and I might oblige," replied Clark sullenly.

"Since you seem so eager, why don't you attack the enemy from the rear? You might get to take out another Firefly, and it might seriously worry the enemy to be surrounded. You might also get to work out that anger you seem to have."

"Bite me Pearce," said Clark curtly, "I'll follow your orders, don't mess up."

"I don't plan to, Miss Clark."

With the ambush set up, Pearce's Tiger sat on the far edge of the field, facing directly east. Roughly 15 minutes later, a grumble of engines indicated the arrival of some of the senior team. The Centurion grumbled past the wreckage of one of the Fireflies, followed by a Churchill and a Cromwell. James gritted his teeth inside the Centurion when he spotted Pearce, stood up in his cupola on the other side of the field.

"He just sits there looking cocky because he took a few tanks out. It's obviously a trap, because they've been working in pairs from all the reports. Anders, you and the Firefly head right, take the high ground and rain shells down on this upstart. I want one of the other two Cromwells heading left to check the ground over the ford. I want them beaten roundly, so they learn where they stand against us. I want the flanks cleared before we advance in to finish that Tiger."

Grumbling across the terrain on the seniors' right flank, the Cromwell and the Firefly began to ascend towards a plateau which would give them an unparalleled field of fire. Unfortunately for them, as they reached the ridge they were met by the whistle of close shellfire, as several rounds flew overhead. Wavell and Russell team, obscured by dips in the land and rocks, were barring the path of the seniors, and the situation soon devolved into a shooting contest at around the 750m distance. Russell team were filling the air with most of the shot by doing as they had done the previous day, the experience with the Churchill clearly not enough to convince them of the necessity of aiming properly over firing rapidly. The Achilles, on the other hand, was waiting patiently to hit its mark.

"Keep it steady, Hannah, we want a clean hit. No sense in wasting ammunition," advised Chris.

"Understood."

Training carefully on the Firefly, its counterpart, and ensuring to hit its hull armour, Hannah hammered an APDS round straight into the enemy tank, ensuring an immediate surrender. At that distance, virtually no armour plate was stopping the round.

Seeing the surrender of the Firefly, Russell team saw their opportunity for glory.

"Go! This time we have them!" shouted Steven.

Gunning their engine, they closed with the enemy tank as fast as they could, trying to get round its flank. Sadly, the Cromwell they faced was by no means as slow on the traverse as the Churchill, and faced the hapless lads as they attempted their manoeuvre. Anders saw his chance, and the Cromwell placed a round dead onto the flank of their counterpart's tank. Skidding to a halt from their momentum, Russell team began to curse.

"I think I can safely say I told you so," said Chris over the radio.

The Achilles by this point had finished retargeting their weapon on the enemy vehicle, firing a single range finding round to ensure accuracy. James slammed home a round into the breech of the gun, and the turret ring whirred slightly as Hannah made corrections, eventually stopping as she lined the shot up perfectly.

"Fire!" shouted Amy.

The furious roar of the main gun slightly rocked the Achilles despite the counterweighting on the turret rear, and the muzzle flash temporarily blinded the crew. Blinking to readjust their eyes, they saw that while they had hit home, they had only disabled a track on the enemy Cromwell, Hannah having aimed slightly low to avoid firing over the Cromwell's low profile. Reloading and re-aiming, Wavell team picked the Cromwell off with the impunity that only comes with facing a foe who can't fight back. The Achilles then rolled forward slightly, checking for any further foes, before sitting in the scrub overlooking the field.

"We lost Russell to stupidity. And enemy fire, of course," radioed Chris.

"I expected the former," said Pearce dryly.

"We're in position to support you on the left."

"Wait for the signal, but have Hannah target the Centurion. You can fire when you think the time is right."

"Sweet," came the response of Taylor, relaying the order to his gunner.

On the left flank of the senior team, the other Cromwell sent to scout was somewhat more circumspect in its approach to the terrain. Cruising gently across the grassland on the other side of the ford, they spotted the Churchill of Marlborough team, waiting for orders to go into action. Opting not to fire, the tank moved closer, using the terrain to remain relatively camouflaged until it was around 200m away, nearly facing the rear of the Churchill. Choosing to abandon subtlety from then on, the Cromwell fired, and while the shot missed narrowly, it did finally get the attention of the team.

"We're attacked! Roberts team, we require your aid!" requested Simon.

"We'll help you Simon!" replied Anna, a shuddering from the bushes giving away the movement of her Cromwell to try and prevent their comrades being lost. Seconds later, a shot whistled out from the scrub towards the enemy.

This made little to no difference, however, as the next shot from the seniors firmly crushed the right side treads on the Churchill, prohibiting any form of defensive action. Moving to adjust their angle of fire, the Cromwell then sent several shots towards their stricken target, with return fire from both Roberts and Marlborough team streaking past them. Finally, the senior team struck home, getting a clean hit on the rear of the Churchill, the surrender flag heralded by a plume of smoke. The Cromwell then eyed its next target, Roberts team. The Cromwell of the R&amp;D cadets had fired repeatedly on their senior team counterpart, but evidently needed work on their gunnery. Choosing to remain at range, the senior team then exchanged fire furiously with the techies, until a rending shriek told them that he had hit something. A ricochet from the turret ring of the opposing tank had damaged the traverse system, meaning that Roberts team could not rotate the gun very quickly. However, this was unnecessary, as the stationary nature of the opponent meant that the cadets, having finally found their aim, were free to hammer home a return shot, knocking out their erstwhile enemies for good.

"That would have gone better if we could put some better gun sights, or maybe an aim bot into the tank," commented Ellie, the gunner for the team.

"Somehow, I don't think the league authorities would allow such modifications to the tanks," replied Anna.

"Besides, it would be so difficult to do, and highly vulnerable to enemy fire. I mean, you'd need an array of sensor equipment, and somewhere to mount it…" said Alex, the loader, trailing off into tech babble.

"I hate to interrupt," came a voice over the radio, evidently Pearce, "But I would appreciate an update on your current status."

"We're functional, but we have no way to field repair the turret rotation system at the moment, so we're hand cranking it. We lost Marlborough team in that last skirmish unfortunately, we'd didn't see the enemy till the last second. Ooh, maybe we could get some IR equipment in the turret ring…"

"Since you appear to be damaged, remain in position and target the Centurion, we'll call you if needed," cut in Pearce, leaving the R&amp;D cadets to continue discussing potential tank improvements.

"I know! Satellite coverage!"

"Definitely not a contemporary piece of technology, Lauren."

Pearce refocused onto the enemy in front of him. Agnew was evidently hesitating in his decision to attack, possessing only three tanks against the six that Pearce still maintained, albeit one damaged. He asked Jo to retune the radio to a different frequency, hoping to find the one that the seniors used. Finding nothing but static, he returned it to the normal channel.

"Well, I was going to see if I could provoke him verbally. Apparently that won't be happening today, so I think we shall use the old fashioned provocation method. Liam, target the Cromwell to the right of the Centurion. I think knocking that one out might enrage him suitably. Fire when you feel ready."

"Is 24 hours from now okay with you then?" asked Liam cheekily.

"I would rather it be done with some alacrity, Liam."

The 88mm on the Tiger spewed out a round in the direction of Agnew, narrowly skimming past the Cromwell Liam had aimed at.

"Well, guess I missed," he said nonchalantly.

In the Centurion, James was a little more mocking.

"What a terrible shot! I thought German tanks were supposed to be accurate, or maybe it's just the crew is incompetent," he chortled to himself, "I think we can probably just stay here lads, he isn't going to hit us. Or maybe we should give him a sporting chance and go a little closer, eh?" he said mockingly.

His amusement ceased a second later, as Liam refocused his aim. This time, with a terrible thud, the 88mm round hammered straight into the remaining Cromwell of the senior team, eliciting its immediate surrender.

Agnew swore.

"That's it! Attack! We are taking this sonofabitch down now!"

The remaining two senior tanks grumbled forward, closing the distance across the open field towards the Tiger. The sound of engines behind him indicated to Pearce that the other teams were getting ready to move out to support him.

"Aim for the Centurion, but only fire when you feel it necessary. I shall handle this myself. Liam, target the Churchill next."

A few protesting voices, not least amongst them those of Katherine and Jo, questioned the logic of Pearce's decision.

Liam aimed several rounds towards the Churchill, eventually scoring a crippling hit to the front armour once the tank had closed sufficiently with the Tiger. However, the Centurion was now within sufficient distance to knock the Tiger out, and Agnew had his team aim directly at the heavy tank, confident of knocking Pearce finally out of the game. The slow turret traverse on the Tiger meant that even with the small horizontal distance between the Centurion and the previous target, the Centurion would be able to strike Montgomery team down before they could respond.

A barrage of shots rang out from all directions, unleashing a veritable pall of smoke and fire.

Pearce popped the turret cupola and eyed the smouldering dents in the Centurion.

"Your timing was impeccable. I have to say, the level of accuracy was fairly impressive too. Well done, team."

"I aim to please, sir," replied Chris.

A bewildered and maybe a tad shaken Agnew could do nothing but sit there gawping.

**Chapter end**

**Character highlight: Christopher Taylor**

An 18 year old cadet at Wellesley academy, Taylor is the commander of Wavell team. A tall boy, with mid length brown hair, and some facial stubble, Chris is often seen being lazy. Laid-back and chilled out, only his superb grades manage to prevent the instructors complaining about his penchant for alcohol and sleeping. He is often seen in a Japanese style, woven straw hat, which he pulls down over his face to help him sleep. Chris enjoys sleeping, drinking, watching anime, and playing video games. He was Pearce's first friend at the academy when he arrived, and is one of the few people he trusts implicitly, part of the reason he was assigned to the M10, the other being that it's his favourite tank. Katherine often hits Chris when he misbehaves.

Character theme: Melodic Instrumental Rock / Metal Arrangements #113 (look it up on youtube)

Favourite tank: M10 Achilles

**This Chapter is now officially over! It has taken forever for me to write, and I don't think it's my best work, but it's what I felt worked for the characters. I hope you enjoyed, and drop me a review at some point. I'm off to continue building my 1:35 Tiger tank. Ja ne!**


	5. Chapter5: New Friends, Old Acquaintances

**It's time for chapter 5, and a load of fluff! I know last chapter may have made it seem like the Wellesley team are too good, but I thought I would try to make Pearce seem a little formidable. Plus, when basing something on an anime, expect inexplicable nonsense. I mean, it took the girls in GUP two episodes to figure out how to almost perfectly drive their tanks. Besides that, my model Tiger is coming together nicely, except the tracks are an absolute pain to get on the model (and paint).**

**14 Jan – Wednesday - Carrier Dauntless – 1730hrs**

The Wellesley teams regrouped after their day's practice, thoroughly spent from a day of harsh practice. The first practice session had shocked the senior team, as even though they were handicapped, they expected to breeze through their younger rookie counterparts. Following a short break, in which repairs were begun on all the wrecked vehicles, those still operational had headed to the clearing they had previously practiced their shooting in, but this time the targets were randomly spaced, some behind cover, forcing the cadets to find range and aim more precisely. Fortunately, it seemed even the teams which had previously emphasised fast shooting were now beginning to learn the value of accuracy, and there were far fewer random craters littering the area after practice there finished.

Once Hobart team and their senior counterparts had finished working their magic on the damaged tanks, a second session was organised. This time Agnew ordered his tanks to go all out on the rookies, but stick to the drill for most of the session, as they did last time. However, this time, Pearce organised his teams into three tank tag teams, as Clark was finally cooperating with him. The extra firepower helped prevent a large number of knockouts, but it was a far closer run thing in this session, as the junior team lost five of its tanks before the final confrontation occurred between them and an equal number of the senior tanks. Surprisingly, Russell team were still functional for this battle, and Pearce found them very useful as a distraction for two of the senior tanks, allowing the Achilles to knock them out at range. This time, however, rather than let his team deal with Agnew, Pearce let Liam do so immediately, the accurate 88mm leaving the senior captain immensely frustrated and his team without leadership. The front armour of the Tiger was pitted and scarred by the end of the session, and the right side S-mine launcher had been ripped from its mounting. Even Taylor's Achilles, which had been sat at the back providing fire support showed visible signs of damage. A second win for the rookies, even in such a session, left Agnew fuming.

The rest of the day had been dominated primarily by standard practice. Hart surveyed his class, all of whom appeared to be thoroughly exhausted, excepting Pearce and Taylor, who both looked as they always did, one expressionless and the other lazy and nonchalant. He was proud of their achievements thus far, but felt that they had gained far more from working with the other team than they had from any of his teachings. He sighed inwardly, wondering if this was due to his lack of experience in the field, or another deeper flaw. Hart determined to see his superior, Major William Thomas about this. Thomas tutored the senior team, and had done so for nearly a decade, so could probably help Hart a lot. About a minute later, Hart realsied that all his cadets were watching him, and broke out of his reverie to address the students.

"Today's practice was incredibly promising. You've shown incredible aptitude at picking up the skills necessary to drive your tanks. Our first friendly should serve to prove just how good you've become through training, and then our performance in the tournament itself will help establish our skills for future games. All of you are dismissed, good day."

"Yes, sir!" was the response of all the assembled cadets, as they dispersed in various directions.

Pearce walked over to Agnew, who turned towards him.

"What do you want?" the senior asked in an irritated tone.

"To express my thanks. You have successfully made my team better, and for that, I thank you."

Pearce extended his hand to the senior, who batted it away.

"I don't need you mocking me either," James said, turning and walking away from the somewhat bemused Pearce.

As James turned his back on the bespectacled cadet and walked away, he passed Chris, who was leaning against the door of one of the closed sheds.

"I think you may have mistaken polity for mockery there sir, that was one of the most friendly gestures I've seen from Sam in a long time, and you threw it back in his face. Just another nail in that box for Pearce, though, he's not exactly comfortable around people, and you've just given him another reason not to be," said Chris, perhaps a hint of scolding coming into his voice.

"He showed me up in front of my men, and your instructor. That little stunt he pulled in the first session, letting me think I had got him before destroying me, cost me my dignity. He even managed to get the headmaster to give him that damned Tiger tank. I don't care if I hurt that arrogant little shit's feelings," replied James, anger pervading his tone.

"Then be prepared for him to actually humiliate you at some point. Everything Sam did in that session was for a reason, a way to make the team stronger. Unlike most of us, who are cadets as a career opportunity or due to skill sets, Pearce does it because he loves it, and works twice as hard as any one of us here. He wants to win, because he wants to prove how good he is, that he belongs here, even when there are those set against him, like you. To see him fulfil that dream, me and his other friends will help him do it, even if he doesn't want our help. You are the arrogant one if you think he did what he did to spite you, that handshake he offered you was his way of giving respect, and Sam doesn't give them out often."

Chris's words hit Agnew like a brick wall. He'd assumed that this kid had deliberately fought the way he had to humiliate him, showing off in his ability to win. However, when he considered what Chris had just said, and some of the tactical decisions Pearce made, especially in the second match, his own hypothesis made no sense. Swallowing his pride, he turned around and walked to Pearce, who was now conversing with Elliot, who was working under one of the Cromwells, most likely Russell team's, wrench in hand. James offered his hand to Pearce, whose initial look of confusion gave way to a small, nigh on imperceptible smile, and the younger cadet gripped the proffered hand firmly.

"I hope to actually take you on in a proper practice match next time, kid," said James, "You won't come away from it quite as well as you did these times, when we were going easy on you."

"I agree with your first statement, Mr Agnew. However, your second statement may be requiring rethinking, as I can assure you, regardless of how 'easy' you go on my team, we will win," replied Pearce evenly, pushing his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose.

James bit back a retort and walked off, hollering to his team to join him in the mess hall once they'd finished any work they were doing. Pearce spared the older cadet one more glance before returning to talking to Elliot.

"I believe that you were saying something about the welded body on these Cromwells, Elliot? I'm aware that this development of the Cromwell was a slight chassis build change from previous marks, but I fail to see what potential it has for improvement."

"Well, the riveted body on previous Cromwells meant that one could not modify the body following construction, as the non-uniform surface of the armour plate made reinforcement difficult. However, because these ones are welded, we can add applique plates to the armour to reinforce them."

"How quickly would we be able to add these plates? Perhaps we could surprise opponents with them in a match, where they suddenly find we have sturdier tanks than they thought. A weak and surprisingly open Cromwell which takes direct rounds without failure could certainly cause some confusion amidst the enemy," Pearce mused, looking at the front armour of the tank.

"I'm unsure, as they were welded to the body in their battlefield use, but some form of fastening system could be implemented, potentially. I'd have to check the rules list for the tourney, and work some mock-ups for its feasibility, but it sounds like quite a strategy you have there," Elliot's voice echoed up from underneath the Cromwell.

"Since you've managed to repair all the faults our friends in Russell team have created thus far, I have no doubt that if the strategy is legal that you can make it work for us," Pearce said, turning to leave, "I shall doubtlessly see you tomorrow, Mr Jones, for I have further preparations to make. Good evening."

As Pearce left the shed, and the sound of engineering noise, his coat was grabbed at the collar by Chris.

"So, Sam, are you up for a friendly spar? Nothing dangerous, mind, maybe help ya relax? I know you've been working on that longsword training in your spare time," Chris grinned, with a cheeky air to his proposition.

"I fear not, Mr Taylor. Our sparring hours are on Saturdays, and I have work to do, much as I appreciate the offer."

"You always have work to do," Chris complained, "You're just like Katherine. Do you ever actually relax?"

"Yes, I take a thirty minute break in my work schedule around 8:30 every evening to have a cup of tea and practice my music. I also read for an hour after I finish work, from roughly 10:30pm, and then go to bed. You know these things already, Christopher, and asking me a second time will hardly change my response," Pearce replied, a hint of amusement in his tone, "I would also appreciate it if you let go of my collar."

"You know what?" Chris asked rhetorically, "I think you need a night off."

"Oh really?"

"Yep, and I'm going to make sure you relax."

Pearce sighed, realising the inevitability of his acquiescence. His slightly more relaxed posture allowed Chris to begin dragging Pearce's booted feet across the drill ground. Katherine, Jo, Liam (Monty team's loader, not Allenby's commander) and Andrew all fell into step, as eventually Pearce decided to move under his own power, shaking Chris's grip off his collar and walking alongside him.

"Care to tell me where we're off to first, since you are so dead set on preventing my work?" asked Pearce.

"Well, since you're self-catered in your block, I thought it would be good for your tea to be made by someone else's fair hands, and fortunately, Katherine has volunteered. Or rather, I asked her very persuasively," claimed Chris proudly.

Katherine cast a glance at Pearce which told him that such a request involved begging on Chris's part.

"I assume you like Italian food? I hope so, since that's what I'm making," said Katherine.

"That sounds most commendable Katherine. I assume that Chris has planned some other diversion this evening?"

"Actually, I suggested we watch a film," Jo chipped in, "I brought Gladiator."

"A most excellent film, Joanna. I take it all of you have seen it too?" queried Pearce.

The rest of the party answered in the affirmative, although Liam claimed he slept through the middle part of the film when he watched it. The group of friends continued their animated discussion on the film, as well as its content and accuracy, until they arrived at Katherine's lodgings in Duke College. A similar layout to Pearce's own abode greeted him, as he noted that this was the first time he had actually visited any of his classmates. While her guests got comfortable in the living area, Katherine went into the kitchen to prepare dinner, dragging Chris by his ear so he could help her.

As the rest of the party sat down, shoes removed and uniforms slightly loosened, barring Pearce in the latter regard, Liam and Andrew were heatedly debating the best animated series. Liam was championing Full Metal Alchemist, whilst Andrew was clearly in the corner of western animation with Transformers. Jo gave Sam a slightly timid glance and asked him a question.

"Are you much of a fan of either of these? I must admit, I've never asked you about your hobbies before Sam," Jo almost looked embarrassed to be asking the question.

Pearce, who had been sat in a chair with a contemplative look on his face, turned towards Jo and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring look.

"I am acquainted with these series, but have not really watched much of either Joanna," Pearce said, and then raised his voice to interrupt the heated debate, "I used to watch a bit of Bleach, so I'd prefer that over both of your choices, although I'm not exactly well versed in any series, animated or otherwise. I think the last time I watched any series was about three years ago."

"But that's before you even came to Wellesley!" Jo exclaimed, "What do you do when we're not in lessons?"

"Yeah, are there any other hobbies you've been keeping secret from us?" Liam asked.

Pearce frowned for a second at the question.

"I haven't kept anything I do a secret from any of you. Have you ever asked me before now?"

None of those assembled could actually recollect asking Pearce about himself before. A head popped out of the kitchen to answer the question.

"Hey! I asked you about your hobbies at least twice and you didn't answer!"

"Christopher, you were drunk."

"I was drunk the first time. The second, I was a little tipsy, but the point is that I asked!"

Chris's shouting was interrupted by a hand grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and dragging him back into the kitchen, from where an aroma of tomatoes and herbs was beginning to pervade the room. Jo turned back to Pearce.

"So Sam, what do you like to do then?"

"I've always enjoyed a good book, particularly Tolkien. I like strategy games, such as chess and shogi, but above all, I enjoy the study of warfare. Tankery is but one aspect of this, along with all of our training in the academy. Tanks are fascinating machines, the very incarnation of war, and I really enjoy being able to command one," said Pearce, a hint of fire in his previously empty eyes.

"I knew you were dedicated Sam, but I never thought it was more than your profession," commented Jo, surprised to see passion in the eyes of her friend.

"Perhaps you thought that because I was cold? Distant? Hard to approach? I know I'm not the easiest person to get along with, but I have my reasons for not being so open."

"And what are those reasons?" asked Andrew tactlessly.

Pearce's face returned to its stony visage.

"Those reasons are my own, Mr Roberts. Kindly allow me to keep them that way."

An awkward silence settled over the room. To break this tension, Chris rematerialized into the living room with a couple of bottles, evidently of the alcoholic persuasion. Placing them onto the table, he vanished back into the kitchen, and reappeared with a selection of glasses, and then an array of bottles and cartons which were evidently of the soft drink variety. Andrew and Jo both chose a soft drink, whilst Liam and Chris availed themselves of a whisky. Chris gestured towards Pearce to help himself, and the quiet boy leaned forward to take a glass full of cola.

"Not drinking? Surely you fancy a whisky?" joked Chris.

"I don't drink."

A quiet settled over the room as the group sipped on their beverages. When the silence was broken, it was Pearce who spoke.

"Given that you decided to ask me a number of questions, I think I should ask you more about yourselves, given the little time we often spend together outside of class."

Jo was first to speak up.

"Well, I enjoy drawing, manga, reading, and playing a variety of instruments, but mainly play the banjo. I like spending time with my friends, and from our lessons am particularly interested in logistics and planning."

Andrew decided that he would butt in and go next.

"I really love sci-fi stuff, especially Star Wars, video gaming, and building Lego miniatures. I like to spend time on future planning, and pre-empting threats, rather than look back at the past, and I thought the time we sparred with staffs was fun."

"Even I gathered some of those things Andrew, purely from the amount of time you spend telling Liam or Jo about them," said Pearce.

"Hey! Just because I'm enthusiastic about stuff doesn't mean you can mock me," retorted Andrew.

"No, it's your non-stop chatter about it that means we can mock ya Andy," said Chris.

Liam put his now empty glass back on the table and decided to address the group.

"I kinda like sleeping most of all," he said, eliciting a giggle from Jo, "But I also watch a few animated series in my spare time, and enjoy retro films and games. I don't really find any particular element of our training more fascinating than any other really."

By this point, Katherine had finished creating tea. She wandered in with plates, and pulled Chris into the kitchen again to help her serve everything else. Soon, a plate of sweet smelling food was in front of all the guests, and the group all dug in with gusto. Chris decided it was his turn to talk about himself.

"Well, it seems most of us like watching anime in some kind, and you know I like a drink in my spare time…"

"Perhaps most of the time," said Katherine caustically.

"But I also really love doing chemistry. It was my favourite subject before I came here, and I still go see the R&amp;D guys every so often. I do some drawings and artwork from time to time. Oh, and since we started Tankery, I've kinda been getting into tanks, there's a few new model kits in my room too."

"Then we should get some war-gaming rules and take each other on at some point Chris, I would love to see if you could beat me," Pearce commented.

"So would you like to tell Sam a little more about yourself Katherine?" asked Jo.

"My passion is for languages, and I hope to be a liaison officer when I graduate from the academy. I can play piano, but have no such facility here, and can only practice at home. I'm a little fond of Tolkien, and my favourite sport is tennis."

"Interesting," mused Pearce, "But I think we have had enough questions, although I am pleased to know more about each of you. I must also commend your cooking Katherine, it is superb."

"Hey! I helped!" shouted Chris.

"If by helped you mean kept distracting me. I don't even know why I dragged you in there to help," grumbled Katherine.

The others chuckled, and settled down to eat.

**15 Jan – Thursday – Wellesley Academy – 1700hrs (I know the interleaving is back, but I'm not cliffhangering, and I want the scenes to be chronologically ordered)**

Another practice session culminated for the Wellesley cadets, who once more mustered on the drill ground despite the rain that lashed down onto the square. Hart stood in front of them in a long raincoat, a little reassured by his talk with his superior, who had given him two things: a stiff drink, and a book to read on practicalities in tankery, both of which he thought Hart had desperately needed. His superior's confidence in him went a little way to restore his faith in his own teachings.

"Once again you have exceeded my expectations. A few more sessions and we'll have worked out the major defects in your tankery. However, I'm not going to do a full debrief, because you inevitably want to be inside, warm and dry, and so I shall let you leave. However, all team commanders are to come to one of the conference rooms with me, and we can discuss the match line-up from the league.

Adjourning inside, followed by his nine cadet commanders, Hart led them to a warm conference room on the second floor of the main campus building, a red brick installation, which while it appeared old from the outside, was surprisingly modern within. The team captains filed into the room, taking seats around a table. Settling himself into one of the leather chairs at the head of the long table, Hart turned on a projector, and pointed at a board at the other end of the room.

"Here are the first round matchups for our teams. Due to our joining the league has decided to allow some teams to combine their strengths for the tournament, given that they often have the same winners every year. However, these are the weaker teams being combined, and so we still have an even chance. However, in the first round it seems we have one of the top competitors, Saunders, to contend with."

The list continued down the board:

**Wellesley vs Saunders  
Oarai vs Bonple/Waffle  
Kuromorimine vs Yoghurt  
Pravda vs Scharnhorst  
Bradley vs Chi-ha Tan  
Kutusov vs Koala/Blue Division  
Anzio vs Maginot/BC Free  
St Gloriana vs Viking/Jatkosota**

"Are there any questions thus far?" asked Hart.

"What forces will our opponents be fielding?" inquired Katherine.

Pearce motioned as if he wanted to answer the question.

"I believe our team commander would like to field your query Katherine," Hart responded.

"Since I already follow tankery as an interest, I have some knowledge of the teams, and have compiled a basic set of rosters for all of them, as well as some additional notes. These may not be the exact teams of our opponents, but they will help us prepare for what could potentially be fielded. Saunders for instance field almost nothing other than variants of the M4 Sherman, including, strangely enough, the Firefly," Pearce stated, before sneezing.

"Looks like some lady is talking about you captain," drawled Chris in a light-hearted fashion

"I would appreciate if they stopped doing so," replied Pearce

"If you would be so kind as to circulate them to us in some way, those notes could prove very useful," Hart asserted, before Taylor could retort.

Pearce nodded in response.

"We also have personnel sheets for each team, but as they merely confirm those registered for the tourney, they will be more useful alongside Pearce's work."

"Well, at least now I know what Sam's been working on every evening," said Chris, lounging back in his chair.

"Actually, I've been working on our strategy against Pravda, Mr Taylor. Although, I believe we should concentrate more on the matter at hand. Oarai academy won last year, and Kuromorimine 9 times before that. They should be the competitors we are the most wary of."

"If that is the case," replied Hart, "Perhaps we should look at the personnel lists."

He pulled up a slide on the board, labelled Oarai, which possessed around half the number of cadets Wellesley were fielding. Pearce spotted a name halfway down the list, labelled as a captain, and he gritted his teeth. His fist clenched as well, sinking below the line of the table to his pockets where he thought no one could see. Chris spotted his move however, being sat next to Pearce, and decided to ask about it later.

"I think it may be better saved for another time, sir," said Chris.

"Of course. Well, if that is all, meeting adjourned."

Once they were outside, and more importantly, out of earshot, Chris grabbed Pearce by the shoulder.

"You mind telling me why you're so worked up?"

"She's on that list," hissed Pearce through gritted teeth.

"Who? Which she?"

"The one I told you about. The one who left me alone, who deserted me when I was younger."

"Just don't do anything rash," Taylor cautioned, "I do not condone revenge, but if you must confront her about it, be careful. Remember, I've got your back."

"I know. You have since I first met you," Pearce replied, a thin smile present on his face, "But I must at least know why." 

**15 Jan – Thursday - Oarai Academy – 0800hrs (It's a little skip back, but I was told about interleaving)**

The Oarai girls gathered on the plaza in front of their tanks sheds, a glorious sun beating down on the concrete. Miho was just about to address the gathered tankers as a loud crash echoed across the yard, followed by the toppling of the chain link fence that separated them from the car park. Evidently their instructor had not lost her penchant for big entrances, as her type 10 tank clattered onto the drill ground. Ami Chouno clambered out of her position within the war machine, and strode over to the somewhat bewildered team, giving a cheery wave.

"Hey there! I've brought the team lists and the match schedule for this term. For some reason they didn't do a draw, but here it is! They also attached a notice to the form to help us prepare for the changes they have made to accommodate the new teams."

Ami handed the forms to Miho, who scanned through them briefly.

"Would you mind if we went through them later? Getting all the team captains together and going over all the details might prove more fruitful, as they can circulate them later," Miho asked.

"Of course! Now what were you up to before I arrived?"

Miho gestured to the tank sheds, where the doors began to open, pushed by the mechanics, dressed in their distinctive overalls as usual.

"I was going to go over some of the modifications the mechanics made to the tanks to make them more battle-ready than last time. If we're against military academies, they must be well equipped. My old school was highly militarised, and we saw what resources they had, so there's reason to expect the same from these newcomers. We can maybe hope that none of them has had any tankery experience, which may give us a little proficiency over them, but it's still worrisome."

Miho broke out of her contemplation, and addressed the gathered teams.

"We have made a few changes to the guns of several of your tanks, so you'll have to re-familiarise yourself with their workings once you get back in them. Ducks, you have a new 37mm in your turret mounting, kindly donated by the old 38(t), and Anteaters, you have a 75mm type 5 for your newly christened Chi Nu Kai. Mallards, you have the same calibre of gun, but it's a German made variant in your B1 now, and may have some of its own idiosyncrasies. Finally, Rabbits, you have a 76mm in your hull mount, although this will tax your ability to traverse and your ammunition. Aside from that, the other teams have nothing added to them. So, if you want 15 minutes to get a feel for your vehicles, we shall be practicing all day, and then all tank commanders will be reporting to the student council office so we can go over this year's tournament. Is that good?"

A collective affirmative gave Miho her answer. The teams split off, heading to their tanks, some with a sense of trepidation as to their new weapons. A scent of petrol and a roar of engines begin to fill the air.

**15 Jan – Thursday – Oarai Academy - 1700hrs (The same time as Wellesley's meeting)**

Following a rather normal practice session, in which Ami had surprisingly contributed a great deal of advice to the teams, each team commander, along with the student council and Ami, gathered in the Student Council office. Yukari accompanied Miho, seen as her knowledge on virtually everything tank and military related could be useful. Once everyone was comfortably seated, Ami pulled a whiteboard and began to draw out the tournament structure. Despite having four new teams, the structure still only had 16 initial competitors. Yukari decided to point out the obvious.

"Erm, Miss Chouno, it appears that the four new teams haven't been added to the tournament."

"Actually, to combat the common trend in the tournaments of only a couple of teams winning, they've decided that some teams can double up to form larger teams, whilst accommodating the military academies into the tournament format with minimum fuss," Ami replied.

A bit more scribbling on the board revealed who was up against who:

**Wellesley vs Saunders  
Oarai vs Bonple/Waffle  
Kuromorimine vs Yoghurt  
Pravda vs Scharnhorst  
Bradley vs Chi-ha Tan  
Kutusov vs Koala/Blue Division  
Anzio vs Maginot/BC Free  
St Gloriana vs Viking/Maginot**

"I really wouldn't want to be in the Yoghurt team," commented Yukari, "It seems Kuromorimine have the best deal here."

"The league authorities also said that given such exigencies as they have put in the tournament, they will give out rulings as and when necessary if any disputes arise," said Ami.

"This process seems to lack a bit of transparency, doesn't it?" queried Yuzu, "I mean, we aren't drawing our opponents, and the league seems to be handing out decisions from on high this term."

"As long as we have the necessary willpower, it won't matter!" exclaimed Isobe.

Everyone gave Isobe a weird look. Miho decided to continue.

"Well it looks like our first round match is one of the double teams. Even with their increased numbers, I think we have a pretty good chance of winning," stated Anzu, as she relaxed back into her seat.

"Shall we have a look at the personnel lists then?" asked Ami.

"We may be able to discern some features of our opposing teams if we go over them. At least, the numbers of registered personnel might be able to tell us their number of tanks, and Guderian could potentially identify participants of interest for us," responded Erwin.

Ami produced a sheaf of papers, each set bound together by staples. Handing out different sets to everyone, a hushed quiet settled over the room. Miho had received the data on Scharnhorst, who had entered 65 team members into the tournament. Yukari whispered to her that Scharnhorst was another German style academy, and its seniors often used medium tanks and tank destroyers. Miho then estimated that Scharnhorst had around 12-15 tanks, dependent on their crews, and that this made them potentially challenging. Yukari also mentioned that their commander, Andreas Lederer, was the younger brother of one of the senior tankers, and as such, probably knew at least a little about tankery.

As the papers circulated, Miho was also told that Kutusov academy, a Russian academy, was well reputed as an elusive school, and saw that they had entered 45 participants, which either hinted at fewer or smaller tanks. If the idea of them being elusive was correct, Miho believed that they might compose their force of tank destroyers or other easily concealed vehicles, perhaps at least 10, which could explain their lower personnel numbers.

Bradley academy on the other hand, had brought 69 recruits to the table, and was styled as another American academy. They apparently followed shock and awe according to Yukari, who began a spiel about one of their senior team's matches, in which they had apparently used so many shells they levelled a great deal of the fortunately unused urban zone they were in. Much like Saunders, Yukari pointed out a penchant for Shermans, but made sure to stress that these were not the only tanks they had used. As she began to give a detailed list of all of the ones that she had seen them use in various matches, a sharp intake of breath caught Miho's attention. Erwin was currently holding the Wellesley papers, and something had evidently caught her off guard. When she realised everyone was looking at her, she hurriedly passed the papers to Miho, who began to scan them, looking for what could have shocked Erwin. Finding nothing, aside from a roster of 45 personnel, she turned to Yukari, hoping for an answer.

"Wellesley is a British academy, and they often field tanks from later in the war. Just because they are British doesn't make them St Gloriana though, as they are more pragmatic and less accommodating to their opponents. Their senior team is fairly well reputed, although not hugely decorated. The main rumour about their academy is the possession of a tank that's never seen outside of German schools normally. Aside from that I can't really see anything that special. There was a bit of data about their students in the material I've read, but aside from Pearce and Jones, I don't know any of them."

"Who are Pearce and Jones then?" asked Miho.

"Jones is the head of the engineering team at Wellesley, even though he isn't a senior, so he must be good at his job. I saw him after one of the matches their senior team had, being interviewed, but he didn't seem very happy in front of a camera. Pearce, as the form indicates, is the current commander for this rookie team. He was listed as 'one to watch' in an article I read on the academy, but there is almost nothing about him other than that," replied Yukari.

"There is more to him than that," said Erwin, who had removed her hat and was currently staring at it wistfully, "He's motivated, highly intelligent, and if we come up against him, we'll have to be performing our best if we want a chance at winning."

"How exactly do you know all this?" asked Momo.

"It's quite simple really," replied Erwin, standing up to leave, "He was the one who gave me this hat."

**Chapter End**

**Character Spotlight – Elliot Jones**

Elliot Jones is 18 years of age and the current head of the engineering team at Wellesley. This is unusual given that he is a junior student, and not one of the seniors, but his expertise in mechanical matters made him suited for the job. Elliot is of middling height, with cropped brown hair, and is often seen in a pair of grey overalls, occasionally accompanied by a wrench. He also captains Hobart team, who drive an A34 Comet. Elliot doesn't mind getting his tank damaged, as that's just more stuff that he can tinker with, and has a genuine enthusiasm for his work. Elliot is fairly quiet, but is equally at home with people as he is with machines once he gets to know them. He shares a respectful friendship with Pearce and some of the other tankers, but commands respect from all, especially if those tankers want their rides fixed. Elliot often plays video games in his spare time if he's not tinkering with a new machine.

Favourite Tank – Panzer V 'Panther' Ausf. G

Theme Song – Angel Beats OST – Crow Song (Instrumental)

**Character Spotlight – Jo Reid**

18 years of age, much like the rest of her friends, Jo Reid is the communicator for Montgomery team at Wellesley academy. She is a short girl with shoulder length brown hair, and often sports a cheerful smile on her face. Pearce chose her to be his communicator due to their long standing friendship, as Jo's sympathetic and understanding nature eventually won Pearce's trust. She was also chosen because those same traits allow her to very easily talk to everyone around her, ideal as the relay for Pearce's orders. A bit of an anime lover, and a fan of drawing, she often combines these into stunning sketches. Her other penchant is for playing music, especially her banjo.

Favourite tank - T-34

Theme Music – Angel Beats OST – Morning Dreamer (Instrumental)

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I wanted to expose the person that I had been hinting at for several chapters and set up my tournament ready to start following the friendlies. I've also tried to make Wellesley's characters more rounded and developed. Please leave a review, follow, etc, I like to know what you think of my work.**

**Ja ne!**


	6. Chapter 6: Memories and Enemies

**Hey guys! It's time for another chapter of Girls und Panzer: Open Warfare. I think I shall give out a notice, I will be on holiday for a good two and a half weeks come the 24****th**** of July, so there will be no updates. I hope to write one to post before I leave, and another when I get back. I'm trying to make this a fortnightly thing. But, enough serious talk, for it is time for some serious tanks!**

**Saturday – 17 Jan – Wellesley Academy – 1515hrs**

This particular day at Wellesley was overcast and foggy, the academy ship slowly nudging its way towards its destination, a rendezvous with Kutusov academy and their tanks for a friendly match. This was also a half day for the students, and as such practice had just finished for the tank crews, although they were told that they would be training Sunday and Monday to ensure full battle readiness against their opponents. Instead, ringing out from one of the training halls in the sports section of the campus was the sound of clashing steel. Whilst most combat courses were taught with safe gear such as bokken, the wooden kendo swords,the academy did offer the opportunity for its students to practice other styles. As such, two of the tankery cadets were sparring with each other using training blades, albeit blunted ones, while a few others looked on. The two were strangely matched, both in physicality and blades, the tall one using a katana, the other a relatively thin hand-and-a-half blade. Eventually, the taller of the competitors lashed out with a diagonal cut that was parried and then forced back by his opponent, leaving his arm locked at an awkward position where he could not use his strength to break out.

"Yield," his opponent said, his voice unwavering.

The taller man dropped his blade.

"Wow Sam, that was ruthless, even for your fighting style," replied Chris, retrieving his blade and readying himself again, "I'd say you have some pent-up aggression there."

Pearce's response was to deliver a rising slash, followed by several blows which Chris blocked, shifting slowly backward as he did so.

"My mood is none of your concern Christopher. What should concern you is the gap in your defence on your lower left side."

"Is knowing this girl is in the tournament really concerning you this much?" Chris asked, ignoring Pearce's statement.

The two eventually found themselves in a bind, both blades grinding against each other. Pearce glared at Taylor for his previous statement and his indiscretion.

"No, our friendly match is the reason behind my current mood," Pearce lied, something that Chris spotted easily, "I am concerned that we are still raw recruits, even if our opponents are as well. This will be our trial by fire, and I will be damned if we fail."

"You do realise that it is a friendly."

"It's also a test of my leadership. I am not particularly well liked by our team, and there are those who want my place at the head of our tanks. I will not fail."

"I highly doubt that you will," replied Chris, gesturing to the spectators, Jo, Elliot and Katherine, "After all, you have us to help you."

Pearce sheathed his blade and walked away wordlessly, leaving his four friends to wonder what they had said to upset him. He also did it so they couldn't see the single tear in his eye.

Chris looked around for a second before turning to the other three.

"It definitely was not my fault this time."

The convenient book in Katherine's hand flew in a graceful arc to impact with Chris's forehead with a loud smack.

"You're the only one that said anything! Of course it's your fault!" she shouted.

"Did you ever consider that you not saying anything could also be the cause?" Chris retorted in a joking manner.

A second thud echoed through the hall.

"I really have to figure out where she keeps those books."

**1600hrs**

Pearce had returned swiftly to his room following his departure from the practice hall, and had spent a while reading to rebalance his emotions. Sat in his chair reading a copy of Clausewitz's On War, Pearce heard a knock at the door. Opening it to find his fellows stood there, the same group he had just been training with, he wordlessly gestured for them to come into his abode, deciding it was easiest to tell them and quash their curiosity before it began to irritate him.

"Look, I'm sorry about what I did," Chris began.

"Save it Chris, I know it was accidental," Pearce replied wearily.

Sam gestured to his living area.

"All of you, sit down and just hear me out," Pearce said.

Each one of the group sat down in the main reception area. Pearce walked back into his room and picked up the framed photograph that he had previously laid face-down. Returning to the main area and facing his friends, he began his explanation.

"Since Christopher decided to tell all of you about why I am so stressed, I thought I should give you the whole story. But breathe a word of this to another soul outside this group and you will regret it."

"We won't, Sam. We promise," assured Jo.

"Promises are easily broken," Pearce replied sadly.

Jo almost flinched visibly from Pearce's tone. He was usually apathetic or disinterested toward most people, but that response had contained hurt, and lots of it. Pearce composed himself, and looking around for any other interruptions, decided to start.

"Chris pointed out earlier that the reason I am pent-up is because somebody I know will be in the tournament on the Oarai team," he stated.

"Why does that matter?" Elliot asked.

"Because she was my friend," Pearce replied.

"Was?"

"Not anymore," the bespectacled cadet responded, the inflection suggesting that this relationship was far removed from friendship.

"How do you know this person then? They're from an entirely different country," Katherine pointed out.

Pearce sighed, deciding to start at the beginning of his story for the sake of clarity.

"I've never told any of you this, but before I came to this academy, I did at one point live abroad. My mother is a research assistant, and my dad a lecturer, and when my mother was offered a job in Tsukuba she took it. I was 11 at this point, and transferred into a Japanese school after a two month course in Japanese, which was followed by a great deal of tuition. I didn't get many friends in my first term, but when I could actually speak to other students, I found a few people that I could hang around with. Nobody really got my love of militaria or history, so I was never close to any of them."

"So I'm guessing you met this girl Chris mentioned at some point after this then?" Elliot asked.

"I met her about halfway through second term. I was sat outside reading a book on great commanders, and she spotted a picture of Erich von Manstein as she walked past. She asked if she could sit with me, even though she could only read a smattering of English, and I agreed. We soon realised we had a lot in common, eventually we started meeting up outside school, although our parents thought we were bad influences on each other. I only learnt her name the second time we met outside of class,"

"What was it?" queried Katherine.

"Her name is Riko Matsumoto, but she probably doesn't answer to that much anymore," Pearce answered.

"Why not?"

"Her nickname is 'Erwin', because her hair sticks up at the sides so it looks like a desert fox, and she loves military history, in particular World War Two. Thus, she acquired the nickname 'Erwin', because Erwin Rommel was 'the desert fox', and it stuck with her."

"Why does she mean so much to you?" Chris interjected.

"We were inseparable; we went to museums, played games, read books, even though our parents disliked our friendship. She was also pretty much the only lasting friend I made, all the others just drifted in and out of my life."

Pearce lifted the photo up to show everyone.

"I gave her the hat I was wearing in this photo as a farewell gift. She always disliked having her head bare because of how her hair looked, so I gave her that hat to cover it up."

"Why did you have to give her a farewell gift?" Elliot asked.

"My mother's research deal fell through, and I had to move home about two months before my 14th birthday. Neither of us had many close friends, so it was quite painful leaving each other, and we both promised to keep in touch frequently."

"So why are you now so hostile to her?"

"For the first six months our messaging went fine, but then the communications dried up, and I was left alone. The last correspondence I sent to her was on my 16th birthday, two weeks after I enrolled here, much to my parent's disapproval," Pearce said bitterly.

"That's hardly a reason for so much anger," Chris said.

"True, but it is more what happened while her letters slowed down that upset me. At home my classmates disliked me immensely, castigating me as a loner, insulting my interests, and essentially ostracising me from social life. When I expressed a desire to be in the military, my peers laughed at me. My parents weren't exactly supportive either. They don't like anything military, not since two of my dad's brothers, and his uncle, died while in military service."

By this point, Jo, Katherine and Elliot were giving Pearce sympathetic expressions, while Chris looked a tad confused.

"So out of all of the people to be mad at, why your friend? Why not your classmates, or your parents?" Chris queried, breaking Pearce out of his unhappy musing.

"I never said I wasn't angry at my peers for being so closed-minded, but Erwin's transgression was more hurtful. That girl broke a bond we had with each other, and left me alone, and so I decided to find her so she can explain why she did it. Her letters were a lifeline that made me happy while others tried to make me sad, but they stopped coming. Now that I have found her again, I want to know why she stopped writing," Pearce finished.

"Why is getting an answer so important to you?" Chris asked.

"Because I have to know if she is still my friend," Pearce responded.

"But why won't you just move on and let us be those friends that you want?" Katherine said.

"I'm just not comfortable with letting people close to me, because then they might try to hurt me, or even if they are true in their friendship, they might leave me alone again. That face I wear in front of the others is a way of coping with pain, as by being apathetic I can no longer be hurt by those around me. If I don't look upset by anything, nobody can use it against me."

"Why did you become so apathetic though?"

"I suffered my classmates' insults and bullying for a fair length of time, and eventually I just stopped caring. I numbed myself to feeling, and I closed myself off from people. I threw myself into my hobbies and my studies, deciding that I needed no-one and would excel on my own. I want those people who looked down on me to see me succeed, so I can prove that I can fulfil my dreams, even when others deny it."

Pearce put a thin smile onto his features.

"I am grateful to you that you want to be closer to me, and that you seem genuinely concerned about me. I hope to prove worthy of such esteem at some point, but that might be a long way off. I'm just not very good with people, and I don't really want to get hurt again. I think finding Erwin might be a step towards changing that."

"Then when you feel ready to trust in someone again, we'll be there for you," Taylor said earnestly.

The four friends filed out of Pearce's accommodation, each shooting him a reassuring smile as they left.

**Monday – 20****th**** Jan – Wellesley Academy – 1730hrs**

The cadets assembled themselves on the drill ground following practice the next day, as usual in immaculate ranks. The day's practice session had been uneventful, and as Taylor gazed towards the front where Hart and Pearce stood, he could detect none of the emotion that he had seen in Pearce the previous evening and was instead greeted by the same impassive visage as usual. Evidently the boy still didn't trust people enough to show them anything other than a mask of uncaring professionalism. His gaze drifted back to Hart, who was about to address the cadets.

"Practice is finished for today," announced Hart to his assembled cadets, "We will be docking in Rzhev sometime in the night for our practice match. Get some sleep, I want to see all of you here at 0600 tomorrow to prepare your vehicles and yourselves. Your practice has gone well, indeed better than expected, and I feel that tomorrow may indeed confirm this to you. Tank commanders, Captain Pearce will be briefing you on tomorrow's strategy, so follow him when you leave. Dismissed."

The students filed out, leaving the tank commanders to follow Pearce, who beckoned to them to follow him. Hart also followed the diminutive cadet, wanting to listen in on his plan. Returning to the same conference room where they had discussed the tournament arrangements, Pearce sat at the head of the table, flanked by Chris and Liam. Soon the projector displayed a map, dotted with standard military features.

"Rzhev is a heavily wooded, fairly rolling battlefield, which makes it somewhat difficult to conduct united manoeuvres in formation. I would imagine that skirmish strategies may be heavily favoured on this battlefield. This suits the battle tactics of our opponents, as from what I have gathered from their senior team they favour tank destroyers over heavy frontal assault units."

"Ok, so what do we do to combat these sneaky buggers?" asked Stephen.

"Firstly, we must be prepared to annihilate scouting units quickly and rapidly reposition as well as assault enemy positions quickly. We are going to move from our starting position into a skirmish line using the cover of the foliage to mask us from the enemy, as well as give us fields of view in front of us," Pearce stated.

Pearce gestured to a spot in the southern sector of the map, marked by the school's logo. Another icon, a two headed eagle gripping a red star, marked the opposite side of the map.

"Do we just wait there or actually fight them properly?" asked Angela in an irritated tone.

"I expect enemy scout tanks to move forward towards our starting position rapidly, so as to get the enemy vision of our positions. Hence, once they are destroyed, or fleeing, we can pursue and use our fastest tanks as scouts so that those with heavier guns can return the favour."

"Why are we being so defensive? We could rush 'em and catch them unprepared, and then those tank destroyers will be sitting ducks," announced Stephen.

"Quite simple. If they are prepared, we lose. If they are not, by some dint of good fortune, then we might just win. I will not hedge even a friendly on some ridiculous gamble. Methodical, sensible plans are a British staple, and we shall stick to such ideas. Any other questions?"

"Have you planned any further into the match?" asked Hart.

"I have developed at least six different potential plans for further into the match, but they are primarily situational and so it would be pointless to lumber our commanders with such alternatives since they may not actually occur, sir."

"I see. It seems you have prepared most admirably then."

"Thank you sir," Pearce replied, "I have a copy of the map to give to everyone, marked with our initial deployments. Aside from that, our briefing session is essentially at an end. Good day."

Leaving a small stack of papers for each of the captains to take, Pearce swept out of the office, pulling his coat on as he did so. Taylor grabbed his paper and made to follow him.

"Can you give me anything else on what you plan for tomorrow?" he asked.

"I plan to win. What I politely ask is that you follow your orders and we should have no issues fulfilling that plan," Sam replied, a frosty tone to his voice.

"I did mean specifics. C'mon Sam, I'm on your side here."

"Quite. Your role for the battle will be that of a support vehicle. While our faster tanks flush the rats out of their holes, you will be patiently waiting for them to appear, much as they shall try, and fail, to do to us."

"Why will they fail?"

"Because we will thwart them at every turn. As Sun Tzu teaches, we will be close but still untouchable. They will be aware of us yet unable to strike. We destroy their eyes, their scout tanks, and they can no longer perceive the threat ahead of them. If Russian commanders teach anything, it is that they are easily provoked, and we shall taunt and goad this particular bear until he finally thrashes around in a rage, where we can put him down."

"Did I ever tell you that you can be scary at times, Sam?" Chris remarked.

"I'm fairly sure this is at least the fifth time this year," Pearce replied.

**Monday – 20th Jan – Oarai Academy – 0800hrs**

Practice was about to begin for another day with the Oarai girls. An overcast sky hovered over the carrier and a lightly chill wind meant that a few of the girls were rubbing their hands together. As they mustered on the yard in front of the sheds, an enthusiastic Anzu gave a cheery wave to the assembled students as the Student Council took Miho's usual place in front of the students.

"Hey everyone! I was reminded earlier by Ami-"

"You mean I was…" Yuzu whispered to no one in particular.

"I was reminded earlier that the academy friendlies are tomorrow, and that we might get some useful scouting info by observing them, so I thought I'd ask if anyone wanted to go there to watch."

A few hands went up. Those hands belonged to: all of Anglerfish barring Mako, Erwin and Saemonza. Mako evidently thought the prospect of missing sleep was a little too much to bear, and that she wouldn't be much use spectating as she would just drift off halfway through.

"I think I should observe them, I am the team leader after all," Miho mentioned, looking downwards as she often did when thinking.

"I want to see some more British tanks, and I follow where Miss Nishizumi leads," said Yukari.

"We're following Miho's lead," announced Hana and Saori.

"Plus, there might be some cute boys there!" Saori giggled.

Erwin wanted to go for reasons that she left unvoiced, but the commanders knew well enough, and Saemonza wanted to be there as support. The blonde-haired captain began to muster her mental fortitude for what could lay in front of her. Removing her hat briefly to stare at the memento, she restored it to her head peak-first and schooled her features into her usual smirk, although this one lacked the usual fire behind it.

"Ok then! Ami will be coming with us too, so that makes ten of us total," said Anzu.

"We leave at 1600," Momo added, "So practice will finish at 1400 today so you can prepare for the trip."

**Tuesday – 21****st**** Jan – Rzhev – 0900hrs**

A small blanket of mist covered the rolling hillscapes of the battlefield where the friendly was about to take place. As he stood on the deck of the carrier watching the vehicles being slowly disembarked into the port bearing the same name as the arena, Pearce went over his plan once more. His trench coat billowed around him as the coastal wind picked up, and the cadet slipped his gloves on, taking care to tuck them into his sleeves. He adjusted the pendant at his neck, the small knight's cross that he usually tucked into his uniform and straightened his uniform. Finally, he checked the laces on his black military boots, taking care that they would not snag or come undone, and once satisfied, he strode over to where the rest of the cadets were mustered, but maintained a small degree of distance from them, as he was not in the mood to mingle with his classmates.

Following a quick transfer to the centre of the town, where the two teams met, Pearce and his tank commanders went to meet their opposite numbers. All but one of Wellesley's tanks were deployed in the square opposite Kutusov's, a gap in the middle left for the teams to meet. The first thing they realised was that there were eleven of them to Wellesley's nine. They wore grey coats with yellow trim, and black military pants with a yellow stripe down the side. Pearce sighed when he saw who was leading them. A huge cadet with strong features and shaggy black hair led the group of Russian cadets. His features were almost bearlike, and the huge grin on his face when he saw Pearce only served to irritate the smaller cadet. Easily a full foot taller than Pearce, the Russian towered over him.

"Greetings! I am Dmitry Kravchenko, the leader of this team. You stand at their head, so I guess you are their commander?" the Russian introduced himself.

Pearce reciprocated the introduction.

"I am the commander of the Wellesley team. Samuel Pearce. A pleasure."

Pearce extended his hand for the Russian to shake, but the huge man ignored the gesture and clapped him on the shoulder instead, a jovial grin on his face

"So, little man, how do you feel seeing some proper tanks?" the giant laughed.

"Considering I see my own almost every day, fairly standard."

The Russian looked perplexed at Pearce's response for a second, before letting out another deep laugh.

"I note that you have few teams here at the moment, or perhaps one too many captains for those present," Kravchenko said, peering over Pearce's head.

"Not quite. Each of my captain's tanks is here, but mine is not."

"If I was looking for a tank for a man of your stature, I would have thought it might be hidden behind one of your subordinate's vehicles," the Russian laughed.

Pearce raised an eyebrow at Dmitry.

"Rest assured, you will know when my tank has arrived, Mr Kravchenko. Even a person of your imposing stature might look small next to it."

"I will believe that when I see it."

Pearce decided to change the subject.

"How good do you feel your chances are in the tournament this time? It's the first go for all of our academies."

"We'll win it for sure," the Russian grinned.

"I wish you luck, and I hope you achieve more than your senior team managed," Pearce said.

Having been studying other tankery battles to create his strategies, Pearce had tuned into the senior league. Kutusov had not done well last season, being knocked out ignominiously by a Canadian team in the first round. This was a sore point for the prideful Russian, who seethed and cocked back a fist, evidently to try and flatten the smaller man. Pearce didn't even move, evidently waiting for Kravchenko to try and strike with an unfazed disposition.

"Dmitry! Calm yourself," a feminine voice ordered.

The big cadet lowered his fists begrudgingly as one of his captains came to stand next to him. The only female in the Russian group, petite and slender with mid length blonde hair; she appeared comically small next to her superior. The height difference was only emphasised by the ushanka she was wearing atop her head, the blonde locks messily spilling out from under it.

"Our apologies, Dmitry is always hot-headed. I am Kristina Oborin, the second in command here."

She extended a hand to Pearce, which he shook perfunctorily.

"May our match prove useful and entertaining," he said.

"Likewise."

A grumble of engines indicated the arrival of Tiger 131, growling into the centre of Wellesley's tank line before Stephen cut the engine. The Kutusov team looked a tad surprised by the appearance of a German heavy tank in the line of British vehicles.

"Commander Kravchenko, this is that 'little tank' that I command. Is it big enough for you?" Pearce said.

Dmitry laughed, much to Pearce's surprise.

"You were right! I do look small next to it! But where did you get that tank?" the Russian asked.

"Our nation captured it in the war, restored it, and then gave it to our school, where it is only utilised every so often," Pearce replied.

"I feel honoured that you felt the need to bring it out for me then."

"I hope you feel that way after the match. I suspect you might find yourself wishing I'd brought a tank my size by then."

"We'll see, little man,"

The two teams bowed to each other as per custom, and then headed to their vehicles so that they could deploy. Pearce was deep in thought.

"I take it you're analysing their behaviour captain?" came the cheeky voice of Chris, a lazy grin as usual etched on his features.

"I have yet to work out how you can read my mind Mr Taylor. If you can do so deliberately, I may yet have you shot for espionage," Pearce remarked sarcastically.

"In my opinion it looked like the big Russian dude, while he is usually quite jovial, has a bit of a temper if you can figure out what annoys him, and that second in command of his is somewhat of a calming influence," Chris remarked, "Take her out and we have a hot-headed bear with a huge ego in charge of some fragile Russian machines."

"Indeed," Pearce replied, displaying a small smirk, "Perhaps we should goad the bear then?"

"You're being scary again, sir."

"I try."

**Point of View – Change!**

Oarai had arrived before the two teams had assembled in the town square, although Ami had left to find Wellesley's instructor, and were watching carefully as the vehicles were disembarked from both ships. The obvious exceptions to this rule were Saori, who was looking out for good-looking guys, and Anzu, who was happily chomping on her dried sweet potatoes. The disembarking Russian tanks, from what they could see, were composed primarily of tank destroyers, with a couple of lighter tanks thrown in, evidently as spotter vehicles, highlighted by Yukari's constant commentary. By sheer contrast, a large variety of vehicles were disembarked from Wellesley's carrier, including the ominous bulk of a Panzer VI Tiger tank, which Yukari gasped at.

"That's no. 131! I thought that was in a museum!"

"What's so special about it?" Hana asked.

"This is the only functional Tiger possessed outside of German academies, making it an incredibly rare and useful weapon to have. It was captured by the British when the crew bailed out of it. Taken back to England and studied, it was then used to help aid tank design, before being given to the care of a museum, who apparently gave it to Wellesley academy to restore."

Erwin had been listening to Yukari's spiel about the Tiger, and it brought some buried memories back unbidden.

"_The Tiger is definitely my favourite tank; it's a masterpiece of design and engineering, with its powerful 88mm gun. There aren't many left though, especially not back home. I think there's only one in the whole country. What about you, Riko?"_

"_I like the Jagdpanther. Its powerful, combining the armour of a Panther with a deadly cannon."_

"_I'd love to drive a tank one day, don't you think?"_

"_That'd be awesome! Think about commanding a whole Tigergruppe, or even a panzer battalion, wouldn't that be great?"_

She shivered slightly, and resumed scanning the disembarkation for any signs of her old acquaintance, unsure whether she did or didn't want to see him again.

Miho, having listened to Yukari, was reminded of her sister, the older Nishizumi also being the driver of a Tiger I. In fact, the two tanks were almost identical barring the reference number, as both were early production Tigers with their signature Pfeifel air filters. The other thing she noticed was the presence of a small palm tree emblem on the frontal armour plate, indicating its service in the Afrika Korps. Thankfully, the previous emblem had been altered to bear the Iron Cross rather than the alternative. The tank itself, like all of the other competitors, was repainted into forest pattern camo in anticipation of the battle ahead. Her main realisation was that both academies were well armed and equipped with vehicles, which while not on the scale of Pravda or Kuromorimine, were nonetheless a potential threat and definitely challengers for this term's league.

While the disembarkation of the tanks was taking place, the Oarai girls went to a nearby café, and seated themselves for some refreshments before the match got underway in earnest. Once they sat down, Saemonza decided to confront Erwin about her mood. The usually cheerful and open girl had been awfully quiet for the last few days, not necessarily contributing to conversations and only speaking when spoken to. It was unusual.

"What has you depressed? You look like Toyotomi Hideyori, contemplating his final days as Ieyasu besieged him in Osaka castle. I just hope you don't try to do what Hideyori did."

"What did he do?"

"He committed seppuku. Anyway, why are you so quiet?"

"My former best friend has come back from the metaphorical dead, as if Yamamoto had come back to challenge Nimitz. He attends Wellesley academy, one of the ones we are watching today. I haven't seen him in years, and he stopped messaging me over two years ago. I kept sending them for a time, but never got a reply," the blonde replied.

"So much as Robert E Lee and Ulysses S Grant once were comrades, now you find yourselves foes?"

"In a way. I knew him before I came to Oarai, and he was my best friend, but he returned to England after a couple of years. We agreed to send letters, but from some of the ones I received, it seems communication between us was disrupted, and he seems to have become isolated. I think he may have been lonely, and from what he said, wasn't receiving my messages. So I'm stuck between finding him to see if he is well, or not finding him because he might hate me for what he might see as abandonment," Erwin trailed off, her tone full of depression.

Saemonza slammed her fist into the table.

"You know full well that's a cowardly outlook. I don't think your name suits you anymore, because I know full well Erwin Rommel wouldn't do what you contemplate. Did he not say that the boldest decisions offer the greatest success?"

Erwin recovered immediately.

"That's it! I'll seek him out and confront him, much as Hannibal sought a battle with Fabius!"

"Have you been reading Caesar's books again?" Saemonza asked.

"Then I shall find him, like the Desert Fox of the Afrika Korps sought the Desert Rats!" Erwin proclaimed, her usual smile reappearing as she proclaimed it.

"Much better."

By this point, the other girls had finished their refreshments, and the Oarai girls relocated to the spectators' area, situated in a nearby park. Eventually the massive display screens for the battle came online, showing the middle of the town square, with a rundown of each participant and their vehicles at the sides of the screen.

As the camera panned across the members of each team, perched on their tanks, and the captains, meeting each other in the middle of the square, Saori almost squealed.

"Look at all the cute guys!"

She pointed at one of the captains, a tallish lad with brown hair and visible stubble, and the boy next to him, another tall guy with black hair and a definite sporty build. Saori's face was practically lit up as she scanned the assembled ranks of cadets.

"This is just wonderful!"

"You're wildly fantasising again aren't you Saori?" Hana asked in a weary tone.

As the camera displayed the two teams meeting in the centre of town, it eventually focused in on the two captains for each side. A definitive contrast, one a diminutive cadet in immaculate uniform, looking mildly disinterested, the other a bear of man, roaring with laughter at something his opposite number evidently did not find funny.

Erwin, who had only been half-focused on the screen, instead composing her plan to find her former friend, was shocked when she glanced at the name tag for the smaller boy facing the big Russian. It was him. There was no way it couldn't be. He wore similar style glasses, only marginally changed from four years before. He was in military attire, the German general's leather coat worn confidently over his cadet uniform, and he wore the Knight's Cross that she had given him as a farewell gift around his neck. The only jarring thing for Erwin was Pearce's expression, thin-lipped, disinterested and calculating. The boy she knew had worn a smile most of the time she had been around him, only removing it when he was genuinely concerned about something. This cadet had none of the openness, the joy that she had known. He almost looked machine-like, and uncaring. Erwin's face fell a little.

"Have you spotted your former comrade yet?" Saemonza whispered.

Erwin just nodded dumbly.

"He's the team captain."

**Chapter End.**

**Character Spotlight – Katherine Armstrong**

18 years of age and the captain of Clinton team, Katherine is the hard worker amongst the students. Fairly small with medium length blonde hair, usually tied up at the back, Katherine can often be found giving Chris a disapproving look for his far more lax attitude to nearly everything. Katherine usually likes to enjoy the peace and quiet when not working, and follows several sports in her spare time. She is very cheerful once she can be persuaded to relax, and is seen as a model student for many.

Character Theme: Rock Instrumental Music No.10 (look it up on youtube)

Favourite Tank: Valentine Mk11

**Academy Spotlight – Kutusov Academy**

A Russian military school, Kutusov is the ice to Pravda's fire. While Pravda often fight based on grinding attrition and blistering counteroffensives, Kutusov is the patient hunter. Utilising primarily tank destroyers and scouts despite retaining other machines, Kutusov's tactics are based in stealth and accuracy. The school's uniform is grey and black with yellow trim and its emblem is a double headed eagle gripping a red star. This academy emphasises Russian pride, and their weak showing in the senior league is a prime motivator for the junior team to excel, to redeem their honour.

**Academy March** \- **Preobrazhensky Life Guard March**

**Kutusov Characters**

**Dmitry Kravchenko – Captain**

The captain of Kutusov's junior team, Kravchenko is competent but not inspiring as a tactician. His main ability is to inspire his men, which was felt necessary after Kutusov's hammering in the senior leagues. 18yrs of age, tall and imposing, Dmitry is almost bearlike in his physique, broad and with shaggy black hair. He is often jovial and frequently amused by comments, but his jokes are often less amusing, as they can be abrasive and rude to their recipient. Kravchenko is often easily provoked, especially in regard to insults to his school.

**Favourite tank - T10**

**Character Soundtrack - Red Alert 3 OST - Hell March**

**Kristina Oborin – Second in command**

The calming influence on her somewhat hotheaded commander, Kristina keeps Dmitry calm and decisive, stopping him from lashing out against his opponents blindly. She enforces the patient hunter doctrine within the team. Kristina is far less fazed by insults and jests than her superior, and is far more polite to her opponents. Small and blonde-haired, she sticks out greatly amongst her compatriots, who are all male. She also wears a ushanka from which her blonde locks frequently spill out.

**Favourite Tank - T44/85**

**Character Soundtrack - Red Alert 2 OST - 200 meters (I think this one sounds sneaky enough for both her and the academy, while contrasting with Smitry's loud Hell march soundtrack)**

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it was definitely difficult for me to write, as I tried to convey depth to some of the plot. Expect this to take a back seat for some actual fighting now, as we progress into the tournament itself. Big thanks to my two mates, who review and read my work for any flaws or potential faults before I upload this. Hashing out some plot ideas with them is very useful to getting this story moving forwards.**

**I would like to see more reviews from you guys if possible, I love seeing your opinions on my work and suggestions are sometimes helpful to the story.**

**Cheeky Note – I would love to see some artwork for this series, and am willing to give virtual hugs and cybercookies to whoever does so. The same rule shall also apply for reviewers from henceforth.**

**Assuming you like my work (because otherwise you read six chapters for squat), I'll see you in chapter seven, the time of posting of which may vary.**

**Ja ne!**


	7. Chapter 7: Trial by Fire

**I just can't stop writing it seems. This chapter marks the beginning of the friendly between Kutusov and Wellesley, with a number of characters watching. A number of comments from my perennial reviewers have also flagged up things that may need to be addressed, such as the dynamic between Dmitry and Kristina, as well as the somewhat forced scene between Saemonza and Erwin. These reviewers are making suggestions which I listen to and ponder over using. Can all you other readers say the same? Your input could help this story.**

**I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

**Tuesday 21****st**** Jan – Rzhev – 0930hrs**

"You must be John Hart, correct? Your Wellesley uniform denotes you as one of the staff."

The somewhat surprised captain turned around, a little startled to hear anybody else's voice from his position. He was sat on the back of one of the academy's jeeps to watch the match, on a nearby ridge far enough away from the crowd to allow some undisturbed observation of the battle. Yet this woman had shattered that illusion of isolation, greeting him in a cheerful and familiar manner.

"Erm, yes, I am. Nice to meet you," he replied, standing up to shake her hand.

"I'm Ami Chouno, the instructor of Oarai Academy's tankery team. Mind if I join you?"

Hart stammered for a second.

"Not at all," he eventually responded.

"Wonderful," Ami said, as she swung herself onto the back of the jeep next to Hart, who flushed a little at how close she was to him, not that Ami seemed to care at all.

"So how would you rate your cadets?"

"They've come a long way in a short time, but I would never claim that they are veterans. Their previous training stood them in good stead, as it should, but since most of them had never touched a tank before, nor handled more than a rifle, I would say that they are doing well, Miss Chouno," Hart said modestly.

"Then it should prove an interesting tournament, no? If all these academies are arriving with promising rosters and cadets, it should shake up the league a little. I know that the League authorities are already a little shaken by Bradley's more lavish requests on rulings."

"Our American cousins have never really understood subtlety in battle. Expect extravagance and display from them when they take the field."

Ami chuckled, trying to conjure up what possible feats that could be done in such a match. Bradley academy was exceedingly wealthy, much like the other American style academy, Saunders, and the tankery team were known to spend their funds on very unpredictable and novel tactics. Deciding to switch the conversation back to present events, Oarai's instructor asked Hart a question about his team.

"What do you expect your team to do against Kutusov? They look to have a strong lineup, and they do outnumber your cadets," she stated.

"I expect my team to fight well. I can't really say how they'll do it, if they'll win, or how well they'll work together, but I can hope for them," Hart said honestly.

He turned to Ami with a twinkle in his eye.

"Anyway, your own team was up against worse odds at almost every stage of last term's tournament and did fine. I'm pretty sure my cadets have a good chance."

"Oarai certainly did fine last year, but I can't exactly take credit for any of it. My superiors were not convinced that their gamble to save their school could work, but they were obliged to provide someone as an instructor, so they sent me."

"Of course you can take some credit then! You are their instructor after all, and you must have taught them really well for them to achieve such a feat in so short a time."

Ami's face fell.

"Well, I don't know if what I did can be called teaching. I turned up and taught them the very basics in the short time that was available to us before the tournament. I wish I could have done more for them, I tried, but I don't feel like I did enough. That can't have left a good impression, and I don't know how to turn that round."

Ami looked down at the ground in front of her as she finished. While most of what she had said was indeed true, it was a little harsh given the difficulties she had to deal with as a teacher. Oarai had such a small window to be taught before the start of the tournament and were almost to a girl, rookies, and making them competent in matches would take a monumental effort. The very fact Oarai had not only won one match, but all of them in the tournament was a staggering achievement, and Hart frowned at Ami's refusal to take any credit. While she was not present at all of the practice sessions, she had at least made some effort to help her pupils, and that meant something.

"Don't bother trying to turn round that brief first impression then," Hart replied, "Make a fresh start and actually be there for your team. I was worried when I started teaching this new class because I kept thinking I was terrible at it. I kinda was too, but my superior sat me down and gave me some advice. I think it's a confidence thing."

"That's pretty good advice, Captain Hart."

"I don't know if I would say that, I say some stupid things at times," John replied bashfully, looking down at his shoes, "But how did you know I was a captain?"

"I can read rank pins, almost as if I'm in the military too," Ami deadpanned.

Both instructors gazed back at the enormous screen, showing both teams deploying to the field. After a minute or so of measured silence, Hart spoke.

"Having faith in your students can also be useful too, because it's a reciprocal thing," Hart added, "If you don't have anyone encouraging you to do your best it can hurt. Teamwork and support are crucial to any cooperative venture."

**On the battlefield**

Wellesley's assigned starting location was a fairly open area in the southern area of the battlefield. Roughly 200 metres across, the open area was bordered by a steep hill to the south, dense trees to the east and west and a gentle sloping path bordered by foliage to the north. Wellesley's nine tanks occupied their deployment zone, the Achilles occupying the central spot in the line. To its right was the Tiger, followed by the three Cromwells, while the other vehicles on the team sat to the tank destroyer's left. Sat in their respective commander's positions, Taylor and Pearce were discussing the most appropriate way to implement Chris's observation into their battle plans.

"So you still think a defensive strategy is our best option at the start of the match?" Chris asked.

"I think it is the safest strategy to ensure we are not surprised. This is home ground for the Russian team, blundering blindly into a trap is the last thing we should be doing. If being defensive initially costs us, it will at least be a low cost."

"You're talking about your comrades, Sam. They aren't just rounds of ammunition to be expended carelessly. What if this was a battlefield situation? They would be dead if you used the same logic."

"This is tankery, not war, as so many people aptly point out. Casualties are irrelevant if victory is achieved. It could cost me my entire force to achieve victory, yet as long as I get the enemy flag tank first, I have still won," Pearce replied evenly.

A major point that had been raised by some tutors at Wellesley was the very nature of tankery, as the nature of the game was not in line with standard military practice, namely by allowing such tactics as expending troops and by limiting the terrain to a set area. The headmaster had overruled such concerns by pointing out the recreational and practical aspects of handling such machines and playing the sport, and confidently stating that his students were at least smart enough not to conflate tankery and war. However, tankery and war could feel quite similar to those people manning the tanks, and Chris wanted to make this known to Pearce, who very frequently overlooked the human element to things.

"That sort of purely logical and scientific thinking can also hurt your friends though," Chris responded, "I mean, it tells them that they are nothing if not replaceable to you."

Pearce raised an eyebrow at the statement.

"It's a good thing that I don't have many friends to lose then, isn't it?"

"All the more reason to carefully preserve the ones you do," Chris persisted.

"I am not a mind reader Christopher, I am a tactician. I cannot foresee enemy strategy and create fool-proof plans. Our matches will see casualties, and regardless of your view of my strategy, I think this one may cost us the least. In real combat I could retreat to advantageous positions or call in reinforcements. Tankery however, is a game, and non-lethal. We cannot retreat, we cannot change the terrain, and losses are inevitable."

"Maybe inevitable, but they should by no means be deliberate. That would be both wasteful of assets and poor leadership," Chris said, trying a different tack and appealing more to Pearce's logic.

"I see. As ever, you raise valid points at the right time. For now, however, we will remain with my plan"

Pearce then activated his radio, pinching the neckpiece to speak to his crews.

"All teams, this is our initial deployment. Hobart and Campbell teams, you are to be in the forest on our right flank. Russell, Wavell and Roberts, you are on our left. All other teams are to be in the foliage continuing down the road. Within 3 kilometres is our ideal defensive spot, as the enemy has limited vision due to the terrain gradient and increasingly dense woodland. We are to move to that spot and render it defensible. When the enemy attacks we will halt their offensive and then turn it back on them. All teams are advised to watch for the SU-100 and SU-152, as they contain Kutusov's second in command and captain respectively. Mr Taylor has informed me that Kutusov's second in command appears to be more level-headed than her superior, and hence removing her will make it easier to manipulate our enemy."

"What if the enemy doesn't attack?" Elliot asked.

"Then we hunt him down."

"That's awfully vague, Pearce," Clark interjected.

"I'm sorry I can't be more specific, but this is our first match, and none of us possess the experience with our foe to do much more planning than that. I can study as much as possible to prepare, but one cannot garner experience in battle without fighting. However, our opponent is in much the same boat. Take advantage of that relative scarcity of information to catch the foe."

Poking his head inside the tank where his own crew were waiting, Pearce looked at Stephen, who was sat stoically at his post. By contrast the rest of the crew looked a little apprehensive, excepting Liam, who was laid back in his seat with his eyes closed.

"Orders, Sam?" asked Stephen, his speech as wordy as ever.

"Prepare to move out. We can win if we try hard enough, and I will make sure we try and succeed. That's all there is to it, but before we start, someone wake Liam up."

On the other side of the field, the Kutusov team was performing similar preparations. Their deployment zone was in a fairly small clearing with narrow paths and dense forest on all sides, settled in the northern zone of the battlefield. Kutusov's eleven tanks were lined up in formation, Dmitry's SU-152 Tank Destroyer leading the pack in the centre. The other ten tanks for the team consisted of 3 T-50 scout tanks, 3 SU-76 tank destroyers, 3 SU-85 tank destroyers and 1 SU-100 tank destroyer, the latter of which was commanded by Kristina herself. Each team was named according to different kinds of soldier:

Team Cossack – SU152

Team Hunter – SU100

Team Soldier, Assassin and Mercenary – SU85

Team Brawler, Barbarian and Warrior – SU76

Team Strelet, Scout and Guerilla – T50 Scout Tank

"Based on the terrain, our diminutive adversary will most likely set his line up here and hope to spot our scouts. By handing us the initiative, we can hit him unexpectedly. Like many British commanders he is being cautious and careful, but by doing so he allows us to perform bold manoeuvres to seize victory," Kristina said, gesturing to a map laid out on Dmitry's SU-152.

A small patch of heavily rolling ground with decent lines of sight to all sides lay where Kristina's finger pointed.

"The boy will panic and his tanks will be in chaos, especially if we were to surround this position," Dmitry chuckled.

"If we spread our forces too thinly, we risk him breaking out of the encirclement with ease, and then rolling up our flanks, as we would be unable to mutually support each other."

"You're right as always Kristina. Maybe we could split into two groups rather than envelop him, and crush the enemy between two armoured fists," Dmitry suggested.

Kristina nodded at Dmitry to indicate her support for this plan. While Dmitry never liked the sneaky style that Kutusov's tankery line-up, he did occasionally suggest sensible ideas which could work if he kept his temper under control.

"I suggest sir that we have our scout tanks move rapidly into position and then remain concealed, relaying us information."

"Once we pin him down, we then attack and crush him like a bug! I like this plan," Dmitry said, smiling as he did so.

Kristina rolled her eyes slightly, Dmitry's somewhat simplistic view of battle and boundless optimism was a little exasperating at times. Clambering down from the SU-152, she strolled back to her vehicle and leapt aboard, hoping for a rapid conclusion to this match. The weather was far too warm for her liking. About ten Celsius cooler would have been far more preferable. Kutusov's uniforms were not particularly summery and became hot and itchy in high humidity. She could only hope that the Wellesley team were suffering equally in this weather.

While the Kutusov second mulled over the idea of a petition to create a summer uniform for the academy, the radio set for all teams blared into life.

"Match start."

The low grumble of tanks suddenly became a cacophony as both teams mobilised. Wellesley's team fanned out and began a steady progress towards Pearce's designated defensive area, keenly observing to detect any of the enemy's scouts. By contrast, Kutusov's team stayed fairly compact, the scout tanks scooting off at high speed to locate the enemy.

"Our hunters are eager today," Dmitry observed, spotting the alacrity with which his T-50s had sprinted off to find the enemy.

"Let us hope not too eager, or they may yet be spotted," replied Kristina.

Back in the plaza, the Oarai girls were observing both teams closely. Miho, having ascertained the terrain and the basic strategies available to both teams immediately spotted the terrain piece Wellesley wanted to hold, dominating the battlefield as it did.

"The ground in the centre is advantageous for Wellesley, but it's also a trap. The very vision range they get to find the enemy makes them more exposed to return fire from Kutusov. It's better than hunting them through the forest, but it could cost them if they don't spot the enemy soon enough."

She pointed at the icons of the three teams in the T-50 tanks, labelled as: Strelet, Scout and Guerilla.

"Those little Russian tanks will be able to conceal themselves well against the terrain and will likely feed information back to the tank destroyers. It's like possessing a live feed of your enemy's movements."

"This could be like the battle of Iwasaki castle then, should both sides fail in their primary strategy," Saemonza commented.

The Wellesley team continued their progress down the track, watchful but unimpeded, and on reaching the designated area, began to deploy into a defensive formation. The terrain itself consisted of a series of rises covered mostly in dense scrub, sufficient to conceal the smaller tanks of the Wellesley team, but not the Churchills or the Tiger. A zone of open ground occasionally broken by foliage surrounded the area, making direct assaults difficult. Were the enemy team in regular tanks, this would indeed be a formidable defensive position. A prominent ridge dominated the central area, with good vision angles on all sides enabling a tank to both spot, and be spotted by the enemy. Deciding to dismount, leaving the Tiger hull-down in some scrub about fifteen metres away, Pearce clambered to the top of the ridge and raised his binoculars to survey his deployment.

On the northward slope, teams Allenby, Roberts and Hobart held position, watching closely for any sign of the enemy, Allenby team taking the role of the bait. To the east, Russell and Campbell teams kept a watchful eye out, well concealed in the scrub due to their Cromwells' low profiles. On the western slopes, Wavell and Marlborough teams took up sentry, the Achilles lurking slightly behind the bulky Churchill. On the southern defences, keeping a rear-guard, Clinton team's Cromwell sat, Katherine alertly surveying the landscape from her turret cupola.

"I want constant updates on any movement or threats. As soon as we find the enemy, we can pin him down and fight them. Until that time, however, we must be careful, so don't fire until you have a clear target," Pearce said.

"Understood," replied Simon, "Marlborough team is prepared."

The other teams followed suit quickly, barring Clark, who did not seem pleased by the passive stance they were taking.

"It's one thing defending this hill, but why are we being so lazy? We should be fighting back against our enemy, not letting him crush us! Losing the initiative is something we were always told off for in class, but you're doing just that!"

"If you wanna go ahead and fire blind at the enemy and give away your position, feel free," Chris interjected, "I'd rather let them give themselves away first, and then shoot 'em down."

The lack of response from Clark indicated her acquiescence to Pearce's order but also her indignation and impatience with said order. Pearce sighed a little. Clark often clashed with him over strategies in classes too, as her tactics were often more aggressive and constantly pressured opponents, while Pearce liked to bide his time.

While Wellesley's team had found and occupied their positions, the three Kutusov scout tanks had found some concealed spots to observe their opponents. They took up position on the north, west and south-eastern sides of the hill, concealed slightly by bushes, where they began relaying what they could see. While a few tanks from the British academy were obscured and camouflaged, some were spotted, and Dmitry began to issue deployment orders to his hunting tanks. His SU-152 positioned itself to the north-west, with two each of the SU-85s and the SU-76s under his direct command covering the northern and western sides of the hill. To the south-east, hoping to hit the enemy in a pincer movement, Kristina's SU-100 and the remaining tank destroyers lurked, seeking targets.

"Well John, it looks like your students have gotten themselves surrounded, and what's worse is that they don't even know it," Ami observed.

"But Kutusov probably can't see a number of our team either and so can't effectively fire upon them," John replied.

Those tanks that Kutusov could see were being targeted nonetheless, and though the concealment spared a number of teams from such a fate, it made those who could not hide far more vulnerable.

"Fire!" Dmitry roared, the tanks in his company having concentrated their fire on the two Churchills they could see.

A thunderous roar broke the relative quiet of the battlefield, the first volley of shells from the five tanks under Kravchenko's command kicking up divots in the earth around Allenby and Marlborough teams. One SU-76 round bounced off Allenby's armour plate, as all of the commanders on these slopes slammed their cupolas shut quickly, ensuring that they did not catch a stray round. Pearce laid down to minimise his profile too, as small as he was he did not want to take a hit from a poorly aimed shot.

"Well, it looks like the enemy found us," Chris said, lounging back in the M10's seat, "Hannah, watch for muzzle flashes. That should give you something to aim at, but take your time. We have to hit before we get exposed."

"Well guys, it looks like we're gonna be taking some fire," Liam said to the Churchill crew, "But we have some good armour, so we should be okay for now. Bethan, start aiming at any that you can spot, so we can send some love right back to them."

Despite the initial barrage of shells on the Wellesley team, no response was forthcoming from the defenders, who merely began rotating their turrets towards their attackers, seeking their foe. After a second volley of shells landed, closer to their marks than the last, the Churchills began to return fire, some of the enemy's rounds bouncing off their heavily armoured hulls. The SU-76s were ineffective against the incredibly thick plate of the Churchill, so they ceased fire until a less thick-skinned target presented itself. The SU-85s, however, could damage the Churchill at their current distance, and so could the SU-152 'Zveroboy' (Beast Hunter). Their shots began to creep closer to the Churchills as the fire exchange continued.

As the main cadre of Kutusov's team attacked the northern and western parts of the hill, Kristina organised her smaller force for an attack in the south-east. Seeing no foes ahead of her on the slopes, she sent Strelet team's T-50 speeding across the open ground to do some scouting. The closest team on the T-50s line of advance was Russell team, who spotted the speeding object fairly rapidly.

"Hey, Stephen! There's an enemy closing in fast on our position," Jake, Russell team's gunner reported.

"Have you got him lined up?" his commander asked

"Damn right I do."

"Then take him out!" ordered Stephen.

The 75mm in the Cromwell recoiled as a round was sent flying towards the little scout, which began weaving as several more shells followed it.

"Stay still you bastard!" Jake shouted as he tried to get a clean hit.

Stephen was about to respond to his subordinate, but a voice cut in on the radio.

"I take it you have visual confirmation of the enemy, Mr Hawke?" Pearce's voice asked accusingly. He had evidently heard the sound of fire from his position on the central hill.

"Er, yeah, one of their scouts was making a dash towards our positions, so we're trying to keep him out of our perimeter," Stephen said sheepishly.

"If he's trying to break our perimeter then he might be reconnoitring for an attack. Be on alert for more enemy vehicles, and switch positions every few shots so you can't be locked onto."

No sooner had Pearce spoken than a shot rang out from the trees in the south-east. Kristina's SU-100 had just put a shot into Russell team's frontal armour, neat as you please. The high velocity shell had hammered home, signalling first blood for Kutusov.

"The SU-100 got us sir," reported Stephen.

"Any of your team incapacitated?"

"We're pretty much fine. David hit his head on the roof, but that's it."

Pearce decided on his plan quickly. Given the rain of shells that Kutusov were laying down in the north-west, it seemed that the majority of the opposing team were there, while the SU-100 was in the south, one of Kutusov's two big guns, and also the vehicle of their opponents' second in command.

"Elliot, Anna, pull Hobart and Roberts teams back and head to the opposite side of the hill. When you reach our south-eastern perimeter, take Clinton team, Campbell team and close in on the woods as fast as possible. Aim to take out their SU-100. All other teams, begin to retreat towards the centre of our defensive position. See if you can draw Kutusov out. Montgomery team will position itself centrally so that it can provide support for both teams. Chris, do you have a target?"

"Not much of one yet, these guys are pretty good at hiding," Chris reported.

"When you have a firm lock, take them out, I want to keep them at bay on that flank."

As Pearce issued his orders, the spectators were discussing the implications of this first knock-out.

"Now Kutusov has the advantage by three tanks," Hana observed.

"That may be so, but they have three scout tanks more than their opponent, which are of dubious effectiveness against most of Wellesley's tanks. They would have to get behind them to knock the enemy out on their own, and their armour is very weak, even if it is sloped," Miho replied.

One of those scouts, Strelet team, having skirted southwards to avoid most of Russell team's fire brought their tank up the southern side of Wellesley's defensive position. As they were about to report the slope was cleared, and had no defenders, another 75mm gun opened fire on them from behind a large patch of brush. Unlike Russell team, Katherine's Clinton team had waited until the T-50 was far closer to them and hammered a high velocity round straight into the tank's frontal armour. The little tank came to a screeching halt, and moments later raised the surrender flag to indicate its defeat.

"We've taken out one of the T-50s Sam," Katherine relayed to her commander.

"Good, that leaves them down a pair of eyes," Pearce replied, "And now they think the southern side of our perimeter is defended. Go and join the other two teams in the south-east. If we can take out some of their force while it is divided, we have all the more chance to win."

"Affirmative," Katherine acknowledged, before addressing her crew, "Right team, it's time to put our backs into it. Let's go."

While Pearce re-deployed his forces, the firefight on the opposite side of the hill had continued. The two Churchill tanks of Allenby and Marlborough team had been under constant fire for almost ten minutes, and it was clear to any observer. Both tanks had several marks from glancing hits and shrapnel as the SU-85s had repeatedly tried to penetrate their armour. Kravchenko's SU-152 had also landed one hit on Allenby team, knocking out their turret with their heavy howitzer's blast. Fortunately for them, it had not achieved its famous effect of ripping the turret from its mounting, but had buckled the traverse and wrecked the gun.

Return fire from the two heavy tanks had also inflicted minor damage on their opponents. One of the SU-85s, Team Mercenary, had lost its right track and was thus immobilised. Wavell and Roberts team had not yet fired on their opponents, choosing to remain as stealthy as possible in case the enemy revealed themselves. Kutusov's tank destroyers were not so forthcoming though, and although both teams had targets, they were not sure enough of them to fire, and expose themselves to the inevitable return barrage.

All four tanks in the frontline began a steady retreat into the centre of their position, hugging folds of ground to minimise their exposure to fire. Marlborough team fired token shots in return at the enemy vehicles, but hit nothing. Seeing the enemy retreat to beyond effective range, Dmitry began to move his troops forward.

"All vehicles, begin an assault-"

"Dmitry, have you forgotten the need for stealth? Even if you don't have the range, you can't let them lure you in," Kristina interrupted.

"But they are fleeing from us! We need to press our assault," Dmitry said forcefully.

"Do so! Move to the edge of the forest cover to get your range, but don't let them lure you into the open. A number of their tanks are still not accounted for and we don't want to expose ourselves too much. Patience is a virtue, Dmitry, and while being bold is admirable, caution is similarly appreciated."

"Of course," Dmitry replied, his voice a lot calmer, "You always know best Kristina."

The big Russian turned his attention to his crews and addressed them.

"You see comrades, the enemy is fleeing from us! Look at them turn tail as we pound them into oblivion! If you maintain this level of success, we'll be back on the ship celebrating before lunchtime! So move into range and pound them into the ground!"

"OORAH!"

Kravchenko's contingent of tanks rolled forward to the edge of the treeline, barring Mercenary team, who were still fixing their track, and retargeted the retreating vehicles. Spying the already crippled Churchill of Allenby team, Dmitry ordered his gunners to target the lumbering tank as it fell back further.

"Let's finish the job," the big man growled.

A full volley of shells whistled out from the treeline at the Churchill. While Dmitry's tank missed its mark slightly, team Assassin's SU-85 hit home, finally scoring a penetration on the heavily armoured flank of the Churchill. Another vehicle kill was claimed for Kutusov. The desultory return fire from the remaining Churchill caused no damage to the victorious Russian tanks. The tank destroyers then began retargeting the other Churchill, the only other visible vehicle in their vicinity. The SU-76s also joined in, hoping to take out one of the vehicle's tracks and immobilise it, making easier to kill.

"Steady it and you'll chalk yourself up a nice kill marking in your first match, Hannah," Chris encouraged, as his gunner tracked muzzle flashes in the treeline.

A thunderous roar and a bright flash from further up the hill heralded the destruction of one of the SU-76s. Wavell team had joined the fun, and just as quickly left it, the tank destroyer swung round rapidly, and dashing off over a rise before Kutusov could respond, leaving the flash struck teams rubbing their sore eyelids.

Unfazed, Dmitry's contingent, now joined by the repaired Mercenary team, continued to rain fire down upon the Churchill of Marlborough team, who had wisely obscured themselves using a dip in the ground to mitigate oncoming fire.

"This could be like the siege of Tobruk, a valiant few holding out against a superior force," Erwin murmured as she watched the screens.

"Or maybe like the town of Bastogne during the battle of the Bulge," Yukari offered, giving her a cheery smile.

"Both times the defenders held out and were eventually victorious," Miho said, "Are you perhaps rooting for the Wellesley team?"

Both of the other girls were caught off guard by Miho's comment, and began vehemently and frantically denying such views. Miho giggled at their reaction.

"That was mean Miss NIshizumi," Yukari pouted.

"Maybe you should have said it was like Operation Uranus then?" Saori suggested.

Everyone went goggle-eyed that Saori actually used a contextually correct historical reference in the conversation, and that she was paying attention to it as well. Saemonza was so shocked she actually opened her other eye for a second.

"What? I listen to you guys sometimes," Saori said defensively.

Recomposing themselves from the shock of Saori being knowledgeable on anything other than girly magazines and boy gossip, the Oarai girls refocused on the battle as it carried on.

As the furious firefight in the north-west continued, the other tanks of Wellesley's team had slipped away to the south, where they were preparing to strike at Kristina's force. The main problem was the lack of information as to the exact position of their foes, but one thing was clear: the need to cross the open ground quickly. Fortunately, with a force composed of two Cromwells, a Comet and a Chaffee, speed was clearly well within their reach. Deciding that the Comet had the best chance of surviving a hit from the SU-100, Hobart team would be leading the charge, with the other three tanks following behind rapidly. The Tiger would be sat on the hill waiting for a target, in order to provide suppressing fire.

"Ready?" Elliot enquired of his fellows.

"Affirmative," his comrades responded.

Bursting out from the bushes on the slope and accelerating at dangerous speeds, Hobart team began the race to cross the open ground. Two seconds into their dash, the other members of the team gunned their engines and followed Hobart down into the kill-box. Five seconds in, three shots whistled out of the trees, screaming past the Comet as it weaved, the crew pushing their vehicle to its mechanical limits, limits they knew well from working on the vehicle. A second volley came even closer to the tank, but only two shots this time. The SU-76 was targeting the lightly armoured Chaffee, aiming between Hobart and Roberts team for the scout tank.

A thunderous roar from behind the speeding tanks informed them that Pearce was returning fire for them, and the guns on the British vehicles opened up to add to the suppression of the enemy. While they were firing into the woods at muzzle flashes, the effect of the shells whistling towards Kutusov's tank destroyers was enough to persuade the Russians to reposition and space their shots, denying accurate targeting to the Wellesley team. The enemy line was roughly 400m into the woods, giving the British tanks half a kilometre to close on their opponents as they raced across the open ground.

"Get in close to them," Pearce advised, "Remember that they have fixed guns, so if you can flank them they can't retaliate."

"Speed is our ally then," Elliot replied, "Katherine, Anna, can you head more for their flanks? That'll divide their attention and will allow us a better chance to get round behind them."

"We'll take the left," Anna responded.

"So we'll take the right," Katherine confirmed.

The four tanks in the group sped into the forest at high speed, slowing only slightly to allow for the more restrictive terrain. The two Cromwells began to deviate slowly from the formation, dividing their opponents' shell fire as the Russian tanks began to target different vehicles. The range continued to close as the speedy tanks of Wellesley's brigade accelerated towards their opponent.

On the right, Clinton team's Cromwell faced down the SU-85 of Kutusov's Soldier team. The tank destroyer was patiently judging its shots even as the British tank wove slightly through the undergrowth to confound their aim. It was only a matter of time before one of those rounds found their mark, the 76mm thick glacis plate of the Cromwell no match for the 85mm gun of the Russian tank destroyer. A plume of smoke and a harsh impact greeted Clinton team as the SU-85 slammed its round home as the team reached the 100m range. As she recovered from the impact, Katherine slammed her hand on the bulkhead next to her commander's seat.

"It looks like we're out of it," she reported in, before turning to her team with a big smile, "It looks like we need some extra practice."

Clinton team groaned.

On the other flank of the Wellesley formation, Roberts team were having an easier time of it, as it seemed that the SU-76 they faced were struggling to damage them. The ZIS-3T gun on the SU-76 had hit Roberts team squarely but the shell had bounced off the armour plate. However, as the range closed, the SU-76's gun was definitely not going to bounce, so Roberts team focused on weaving between the foliage patches to disrupt their opponent's aim.

"This would be a lot easier if we had some of that plating we've been working on welded to our tank," Anna muttered as the tank bounced over the rough ground.

"Yeah, but the rules say we can't put materials on the tank that weren't in military service before the end of the war," her communicator, Lauren, contested, "Otherwise we could just put modern plating on everything and we'd be invincible."

"Stupid rules," Anna huffed.

Roberts team by this point had closed the distance sufficiently to their opponent that their fire could be accurate, and while the Cromwell's rate of fire dipped slightly, the crew aiming to destroy rather than suppress their opponents, the margin of error on their shellfire also decreased, putting the SU in danger. The tank destroyer began to back off slightly as the R&amp;D team sped towards them, a move that actually made them more vulnerable as their shots became even less accurate. This gave the cadets all the opportunity they needed as they put their tank alongside the Russian vehicle and fired, the thin armour of the tank destroyer proving no match for the Cromwell's 75mm. Roberts team then wasted no time in correcting their course to roll up the enemy's flank, so that they could help their teammates.

"The enemy is attacking us in force. We lost Brawler team," Kristina reported to Dmitry.

"How many of them are there?" her commander queried.

"Four originally, three now."

Dmitry did some quick mental maths. That left three tanks on the hill given that Wellesley had already lost three. He grinned, and ordered his vehicles forward. The Churchill and Achilles had both since left effective range, but Dmitry had kept his tanks hidden in the treeline, content for the moment to be patient. That time was now over, but no sooner had his vehicles broken cover, a heavy round dug up the earth nearby, halting the Russian tanks in their tracks. As the vehicles retreated to the treeline, Dmitry pulled out a pair of binoculars and popped the turret hatch. Gazing up at the rolling terrain he spotted a bush on the highest point, a small glint giving away the presence of the Tiger. Evidently the Wellesley team were watching them in case Dmitry tried to relieve his second-in-command. Grunting in frustration, the Russian sent half of his force slightly further south, and the others more to the east, hugging the treeline as they did so, so that they could attack the ridgeline from north and west, splitting their opponents' attention.

"Do you think the Wellesley cadets can hold their defensive position against those opponents?" Yukari asked Miho.

"We held a far greater foe at bay for a while in the finals, and the cadets have some good vehicles, so they should at least put up a fight. The terrain's in their favour too," Miho spoke, as she considered all the strategic options.

"What about the fight in the forest?" Hana inquired.

"While the Wellesley cadets had to sprint across the open ground into a defensive area, their tanks are fast and reasonably well armoured. Now that they've gotten in close they should be able to cause some damage to the tank destroyers, as their fixed guns leave them vulnerable to being flanked."

"So it's like being blindsided by a new guy when your attention is fixed on someone else?" Saori summed up the situation in her own particular way.

"Kinda," Miho replied, quite amused by Saori's own idiosyncratic way of summing up the situation.

Whilst the Oarai girls continued discussing the tactical situation, Hobart team's Comet kept on target, it's weaving course taking them closer to the SU-100. Foliage was crushed beneath armoured treads as the vehicle ground its way forward.

"Angela, can you overtake us and swing round the enemy flank? We've got something new to try," Elliot broadcast to Campbell team.

"This better not get us taken out tech-boy," Clark retorted.

The M24 sped up and overtook the Comet, heading for the left flank of the SU-100. Kristina, torn between targeting the faster closing enemy or the more heavily armed tank, chose the former, the shell whistling just past the left side of the little scout. Taking advantage of the gap in the enemy's targeting, Hobart team slammed on the brakes, stopping their vehicle dead, and rapidly aiming at the tank destroyer. The turret swung round and locked onto the Russian foe, placing a 77mm round straight into the front plate of the SU. The APCBC shell collided with the front glacis plate of the target with deafening thud, and the little white flag popped out of the roof to herald a kill shot. Hobart team began to cheer inside their vehicle, sharing high-fives all around.

"Looks like the short stop worked," Elliot observed, "Thanks for being the bait Angie!"

"Just you wait until I get my hands on you Elliot!" Clark screamed back at him.

'Now we just have one more to take down,' Elliot thought, as his crew began to rotate the Comet.

Sadly for Hobart team, they wouldn't be taking any more of Kutusov's team down, as the stationary tank provided a superb target for the SU-85 of Soldier team, who chalked up their second kill of the match by placing a round square into the Comet's flank. In doing so, however, Soldier team opened themselves up to retribution from two 75mm guns, courtesy of both Roberts and Campbell team, who were bearing down on the remaining Russian vehicle with great speed. Struck twice, with one shell disabling the right tread and the other hitting the turret mounting, Soldier team were taken out of the match.

"Miss Clark, how is the situation looking?" enquired Pearce.

"We got 'em all, including that Kristina girl, but we lost your techie friend and Armstrong."

"Good. Head north, hugging the treeline and then move west. Remain in cover at all times and see if you can spot where the enemy is, we've had no contact for the last few minutes."

"Acknowledged. We've got a good chance to win this Pearce, so don't fuck it up."

"I'll try not to disappoint you, Angela," Pearce replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Sat on the back of his jeep, Hart took a sip from a bottle of water. He offered it to Ami, who took a long gulp from the bottle and returned it to him.

"Your team are impressing me so far, Captain Hart. For a group of rookies, it's quite astonishing to see them pull off manoeuvres like the short stop in so short a time," the raven-haired instructor observed.

"I didn't even know that the engineers could do it either," Hart replied, "They must have done some out-of-hours practice."

"But for all of these destructions on both teams, we are still no closer to seeing a flag tank taken out. Have they lost sight of their objective?"

"Both teams have made it difficult to get their flag tank, Wellesley by placing the Tiger in the centre of their defences, Kutusov by concealing it from their opponents. I would imagine it could take a while to finish this if they remain so stand-offish towards each other."

Back on the battlefield, Dmitry was considering his options, and growing more frustrated by the second, as those options were dwindling. He had lost his flanking force, had to attack a defensive position, and enemy reinforcements were on the way. He had also lost his second in command, and slammed his fist into the turret cupola, deciding that he would make his opponents pay for trying to make a fool of him. They dared to show his team up! Kutusov academy would not be defeated this term, even in a friendly.

"Prepare to assault the ridgeline! If we can catch them without half their force, we can take out their flag tank! OORAH!" Dmitry barked, the rest of his team replying with "OORAH!"

The first Wellesley knew of the Dmitry's final push were two blurs, speeding out from the bushes on the northern and western flanks of the rolling ground. The two T-50s, gunning their engines, sped towards the slope, hoping to persuade Wellesley to target them. The exposed Churchill of Marlborough team in the north did so, its 6 pounder gun seeking the small tank. As the scouts tried to distract the team, Kutusov's remaining forces rolled out of the woods, firing as they went, hoping to close the distance to their foe, Dmitry and one SU-85 in the west, the other SU-85 and the SU-76 in the north. The tank destroyers used a leapfrog style formation in pairs, one rolling forward while the other stopped to fire, seeking to suppress the cadets on the hill.

The T-50 in the western group stopped abruptly as it was hit by a high velocity round, the bright flash betraying the presence of the M10. As expected, Wellesley's sniper had held their aim for a long while to get that one-shot kill and remain concealed for as long as possible. The tank began to scamper back to the centre of the high ground as it was targeted, but was stopped dead by the howitzer mounted on Dmitry's SU-152. Despite missing the tank by nearly a foot, the shell spalling mangled the left tread on the Achilles, halting it dead.

"Well, it looks like out future is looking a little rocky now," Chris remarked.

"How can you be so calm!" Amy shouted back at him from her driver's seat.

"Because we can't do anything about it. Do you fancy getting out to fix our track?"

The next casualty in the battle for the hill was the SU-85 on the northern flank, Team Mercenary. Choosing to lend his tank's weight to the defence of this slope, Pearce's Tiger 131 fired three rounds in the direction of the tank destroyers from its vantage point on the high ground, Pearce having remounted his vehicle as soon as he saw Kravchenko's final push. The first fell short, the second missed the vehicle's left flank by half a metre, but the final round crashed home, knocking the tank destroyer out in a plume of smoke. Without any way to deal with the Churchill facing them from the front, the T-50 and the SU-76 continued their headlong charges, hoping to assail the weak rear armour of the lumbering tank. They did so with greater alacrity when they noticed, emerging from the treeline on their left, Roberts and Campbell teams, who began firing as soon as they hit effective range.

"Looks like the cavalry's coming," Simon observed, as he watched his teammates hammer into the enemy's left flank.

In the west, Wavell team continued to resist the advancing Russians. From their position behind the ridgeline, Montgomery team looked expectantly at Pearce, waiting for his order to advance and assist their allies.

"Sam, are we going to help them? They're facing two enemy vehicles out there," Jo said timidly, a look of concern on her face.

"We remain here. Our tank is the flag tank and we cannot afford to expose ourselves recklessly in order to save our teammates."

The entire crew went quiet. Their captain's logic made sense, but as they listened to the reports of fire coming from the other side of the hill, they found themselves wishing that they were in the firing line too, offering support to their comrades. A plume of smoke indicated the loss of the SU-85 to Wavell team's 17-pounder, but another shell rocked the Achilles, the force of the howitzer's impact rending the vehicle once more. Despite the heinous damage the vehicle had suffered, Dmitry decided it was best to ensure that they were not just playing possum and leave a threat to his tank's rear

"Remove this tank before we continue. We don't need an opponent sat behind us," Dmitry instructed his gunner.

The stricken Achilles was helpless to do anything as the SU-152 took careful aim and fired straight into the immobilised tank, knocking it out of the match immediately, the ubiquitous white flag popping from the hatch. The normally witty Taylor was a little more contemplative, mulling over that Pearce had decided just to leave him to the enemy. His crew and that of Montgomery team were both subdued as they considered what Pearce had ordered. However, while Wavell team picked themselves up from the tremendous impact that had rocked their vehicle, Pearce decided to take to advantage of the slow reload speed of the Russian flag tank. He instructed Stephen to roll back over the slope to take on the enemy. The 88mm gun of the Tiger was lined up carefully by Liam and he firmly planted a round into the SU's armour, while Dmitry berated his loader to hurry up. A plume of smoke indicated the destruction of the enemy vehicle.

Across the battlefield, both teams ceased fire as all communication devices blared to life.

"Match over. Kutusov flag tank disabled. Wellesley Royal Military Academy wins."

**There we go! Another chapter completed! I hope you enjoyed this, the first proper battle in this fic. I tried to make it as competitive as possible. I will be returning with the aftermath after a brief vacation, so don't expect an update for at least three weeks.**

**Ja ne!**

**Vehicle Spotlight – Tiger '131'**

The Panzerkampfwagen VI, named 'Tiger', is often recognised as the most fearsome tank of all time. Nearly 3 metres tall, over 6 metres long and 3.5 wide, this behemoth was rightly heralded as a deadly weapon. Only 1350 of these tanks were made, but their nearly impervious nature during the early and middle stages of the war gave them a terrifying reputation. During one engagement in Russia, a Tiger tank was hit 227 times, suffering damage to tracks, transmission and wheels, yet drove 65km back to German lines. Such exploits made the vehicle a legend, further compounded by their veteran crews, of which fourteen claimed over 100 vehicle kills each. The 88mm gun that the Tiger carried was capable of making a mess of most allied vehicles at standard ranges or above, and the armour of the Tiger, while not heavily sloped, often prevented the same happening to it. Only by the very end of the war, with Germany essentially on its knees, did the allied cause have sufficiently powerful tanks to face Tigers in a stand-up fight. The major flaws of the Tiger came from its unsloped armour and over-engineered design, the former meaning that shells often did not bounce off the armour plate and the latter causing the machine to be temperamental and maintenance heavy. Germany eventually phased the Tiger I out for the Tiger IIB, or King Tiger, an even heavier and more cumbersome vehicle, but the originals remained in service to the final days of the war, prowling the streets of Berlin.

Tiger 131 was captured in Tunisia by British forces in 1943. A shot from a Churchill of the 48th Royal Tank Regiment jammed the turret traverse and the crew bailed out, leaving the vehicle almost wholly intact. The vehicle was taken back to England and studied for military research, and was then handed to Bovington tank museum in 1951, where in reality, it still resides, having been restored to full working order as one of seven remaining Tigers. However, in this story, Bovington handed the tank over to Wellesley military academy to repair and restore due to lack of funds, where it is deployed infrequently for certain tankery team commanders. Pearce is one of these, as the first junior team captain.

**Team Spotlight – Campbell team**

**Captain – Angela Clark**

18 years of age and one of the oldest in the year, Angela is one of the top students in her class. She often scores within the top five in virtually all disciplines and is often credited with coming up with aggressive strategies during some classes. As one of the best students across the board, Angela expected to become the captain of the junior team when it was formed, but was beaten out by Pearce for that position. Now, as one of the captains for Wellesley's tankery team, she aims to prove her efficiency and skill while waiting for Pearce to slip up so that she can become the team captain. Angela is a tall woman with short black hair and often carries a scowl on her face, which would be very pretty otherwise. Her leadership skills are evident in the way she has almost complete loyalty from her crew.

**Favourite Tank – Ram II**

Character Soundtrack - Anime Instrumental Rock / Metal Arrangements #4 - Shakugan no Shana II (youtube)  
Gunner – Alexis Westwood  
Petite and blonde-haired, Alexis is often somewhat overlooked in her team, who are all noticeably taller than her. However, her carefree attitude wins her many friends and her gunnery skills add another accolade onto a roster of qualities many people attribute to her. Alexis is also 18, like Angela.  
Loader – Louise Griffiths  
The complete counterpart to Alexis, Louise is a tall brunette with a somewhat less welcoming disposition, probably from a long time fending off potential boyfriends. She is Angela's closest confidant, perhaps due to their similarity in many categories, excepting their academic achievement, and due to her younger age, being 17, Angela views her as something of a little sister.  
Driver - Charlotte Davies  
Charlotte is the youngest member of Campbell team, having just turned 17. She's also the quietest, as she's nervous of contradicting her older comrades. She sits somewhere near the middle of her year in terms of grades. Her driving is efficient, but not necessarily inspired. Charlotte is of average height, and often dresses very modestly, her uniform always pristine, and her reddish-brown hair in a neat bun.  
Communicator – Marian Southworth  
Marian is the dissenter amongst Campbell team. While she likes and trusts Angela, she often has concerns over Angie's somewhat aggressive style and dislikes being told to shut up and follow orders. She doesn't respect Pearce for the same reasons, in that Pearce never seems to allow his tight control over his crews to slip and tries to repress individualism. Marian is just under average height and has reddish-brown hair, bordering on ginger, which sits in curly locks. 


	8. Chapter 8: Doctrinal Differences

**Hey everyone! I'm not dead! I have returned from vacation and am now getting back on with writing this fic. My internet is being a pain however, so by the time you read this it may or may not be some time in the future. (Edit – many days into the future)**

**Also, I have redrafted my previous chapter several times, so you should probably re-read if you haven't already because it's a fairly significant set of changes. This chapter will be dealing with the aftermath of the battle, so if you haven't read my latest version of chapter 7 you might get a tad confused with what goes on here.**

**So, without further ado, let's get started.**

**Tuesday, 21****st**** Jan – Rzhev – 1150 hrs**

Following the end of the match, polite applause came from the somewhat sparse crowd of spectators. While neither side had exactly been inspiring, the match had been competitive and seen plenty of destruction, more than enough to earn some gratitude from those watching. The retrieval teams set to work with their usual efficiency, having already pulled several wrecked tanks in during the match and now on their way to recovering the rest of the mangled vehicles. One of the tanks that had been pulled in looked almost restored already, the engineering team having clambered out to begin repairs almost as soon as it was deposited in the garage. Some of them were already sporting the ubiquitous oil stains on their overalls that came from repair work.

In their isolated position, John and Ami surveyed the field, watching the remaining functional tanks withdraw under their own power, some with their teammates from disabled AFVs clinging to the sides.

"I should congratulate you on your team's victory, a fair performance for their first time out on the field," Ami remarked.

"Thank you, but it was only a friendly. We still have a long way to go to get to the finals, and there's still room for improvement," Hart said dejectedly.

"No team ever fights a perfect match. You can plan all you want but it will never go like clockwork. Perhaps if you break the match down you can see where improvement can be made."

Ami didn't wait for John to respond, but instead plowed on into an analysis of the match.

"In general, both teams displayed competence in the handling of their machines. Good movement and fire from almost every crew. Nothing inspiring but all of the students at least could move and fire their tanks with the sort of efficiency expected of them."

"I would agree with that. All of the teams showed their training off a little bit. That reminds me, I need to talk to Elliot about where he learned how to do a short stop like that."

"In terms of the opening of the match, your team chose a hill as its defence location, a solid strategy in any action. Their opponents had local knowledge, so fighting defensively mitigated heavy losses from ambushes. However, such a static and indeed passive defence enabled Kutusov to split into two groups to attack them. Their mistake however, was in fire discipline, allowing their smallest tanks, the SU-76s, to fire on the Churchills, targets they couldn't hurt."

"One of my teams made the same mistake, forgoing their fire discipline to aim for one of the T-50s," Hart replied.

"Yes, but they had a clear shot that would have been effective had it hit. They were just a little unfortunate that they missed and were taken out in kind," Oarai's instructor countered.

"Perhaps they still need some more work on their marksmanship. Then there was the action in the woods."

"It was risky, sending nearly half of the available forces to counter Kutusov's secondary group, as it meant that a frontal assault could have overrun your team's lines. However, it paid off, eliminating the threat of a pincer movement and freeing up more forces to combat Kutusov."

"Kutusov's final attack was the last mistake on their part. I do think however, that it was also sensible. Team morale would hardly have risen playing cat and mouse round the field with their opponents chasing them, so striking while there was a chance of victory did make sense. Which brings us to the finishing moments," Hart said.

"Your team captain used the slow reload speed on his opponent's tank to his advantage when it had destroyed one of his tanks. That's all there is to it," Ami said, failing to see how there was any further discussion needed over this point.

"Yes, but I doubt some people will be happy being used as a distraction like that," John responded.

"The Nishizumi school believes that victory is the sole aim of combat and that to oppose such actions on the grounds of feelings is foolhardy, as unnecessary emotion could jeopardise success on the battlefield," Ami pointed out

"Wellesley does not subscribe to the Nishizumi style," Wellesley's instructor replied firmly.

John could not however speak for the personal style of Pearce, and this concerned him. It was hardly likely that being used as an unwitting decoy would endear someone to their commander, so it was possible that there might be some friction occurring between members of his team. Hart climbed up over the tailgate and positioned himself in the driver's seat of the jeep.

"I should probably go and see to my team. The headmaster wants us gone from the port as soon as possible, so we have to get the tanks loaded."

Hart paused for a second before stammering out a sentence, flushing a deep crimson as he did so.

"P-Perhaps you might like to watch another match with me at some point?"

Ami smiled. Sometimes company was nice at these matches, and John was pleasant to sit with.

"Of course," she replied, clambering down off the tailgate as John started the jeep up.

"Then I'll see you another time!" John shouted as he drove off.

Ami gave John a cheerful wave before wandering off to find her own charges. He wasn't bad company, the Wellesley instructor, a little reserved and shy, but good conversation.

**In town**

As the match finished, the Oarai girls also provided their own polite applause for the battle they had just watched. Many of the spectators relinquished their seats and began to leave the viewing area, including a group of cadets in deep blue uniforms and white pants, who were discussing the heinous lack of discipline and formation in both teams. A black imperial eagle badge marked their lapels, something noted by Yukari as belonging to the Scharnhorst military academy. The Oarai students remained where they were whilst those around them departed, talking amongst themselves, some about the match, and some, Saori predictably amongst them, about other things. Miho was deep in thought however, and was frowning to herself, something which Yukari noticed.

"Miss Nishizumi, is something bothering you?"

"I was thinking about why that Wellesley boy used his teammate as a decoy. He had other options after all…." Miho trailed off.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he could have pulled them back early into the attack and linked up with his other forces rather than leaving them there, or even intervened with his own tank, even if that meant exposing the flag tank to the enemy. I mean, the enemy would have gone after the Tiger instead and maybe ignored the Achilles, allowing them to attack from the rear."

Miho looked down at her shoes. The move had been worthy of the Nishizumi style and that was what had bothered her. She could imagine her mother endorsing that manoeuvre with whatever approximated to enthusiasm for her, and found the idea more than a little bit disgusting. Decoys and losses were one thing, but leaving teammates in untenable positions was another. The worst part was that the Achilles crew weren't even made aware of it beforehand. At least her friends knew what role they played in battles.

"I know you're uncomfortable with the idea of putting victory first, but some people do things that way, like your sister. You've found your style of tankery, and maybe this is just their captain's," Yukari said, playing devil's advocate.

"But I thought you said that Wellesley weren't a Nishizumi school?"

"They aren't," the brown haired loader replied, "They're a little more doctrinally flexible, though there are a few similarities, and comradeship is a little more encouraged, but not rigidly enforced."

"Then won't some people be dissatisfied with how that fight was conducted? The people in that tank could have been hurt," Miho asked, getting a nod back from Yukari.

"Since they're a new team, maybe they still haven't found their style yet? I mean Pravda uses its tanks as decoys right? These cadets might want to work out what's best for their team, especially since they'll be used to thinking in real battlefield terms, not tankery tactics."

Miho thought for a second. These students, despite their military academy training, had never handled tanks before and though they may have their own preferred strategies in battle, it was unlikely they had the same level of experience in command as she did, and it had taken her long enough to acquire her own idiosyncratic method of leadership. Maybe these cadets were in the same boat as she was when she went to Oarai, still looking for their own style. Planning a campaign was different from planning a tankery match after all.

Putting that thought aside, Miho reviewed the information that she had gathered about both teams. Each was evidently well-trained, capable of handling their vehicles and at least competent tactically, albeit inexperienced, although that would come later. They would prove a challenge to take on in the tournament, right alongside the other veteran teams, as the academies were well-equipped and resourceful.

Whilst Miho relapsed into deep thought, Yukari looked off to her left at the other Oarai girls, noting the absence of a distinctive coat and hat amongst the group. Evidently Erwin had slipped away unnoticed, as Saemonza appeared to be talking to Hana, although what about she couldn't tell. Concluding that Erwin had most likely gone to use the facilities, Anglerfish's loader turned to strike up a conversation with Mako, who had recently woken back up, having been napping since about a third of the way into the match.

**The Docks – 1210hrs**

The interior of Tiger 131 had been filled with an oppressive silence since the end of the match. The heavy tank led a procession of its teammates back to the docks, the only sounds inside the rumble of the vehicle's operation. Flickering radio traffic between the other tanks indicated excited discussion that ranged from what the crews would do with their afternoons to how their next match would go. Finally arriving at the loading point for the tanks, the crew bailed out to let the dock staff help with the loading. As they clambered out of the hatches, Jo decided to ask Pearce the question that had been nagging her.

"Sam, why didn't we go to help Chris and his team before they got taken out?"

Pearce, stood on the chassis' roof, gestured to the little red flag flying from the top of the tank as Jo went and stood next to him.

"That flag denotes that we are the flag tank for our team. What does that mean Joanna?"

The radio operator furrowed her brow, not so much in thought over the question, but why Pearce was asking her it. Evidently the question was involved with Pearce's strategy, and underpinned his decision making, but it seemed far too straightforward.

"That the enemy is after our vehicle to win, right? We're the objective for the opposing team."

Pearce nodded. He would have been somewhat exasperated had she not known the answer to that question, as that would indicate a severe lack of knowledge on the part of his team member.

"Hence, if we get disabled by enemy fire, we lose. As a result, if we had exposed ourselves to the enemy team's flag tank sooner, we ran the risk of being disabled."

"Isn't the Tiger a heavy tank though? We should be able to take quite a bit of punishment without getting wrecked. I mean the front armour is ten centimetres thick and really high quality."

The diminutive captain was fairly impressed with her knowledge. It seemed like Jo had been doing a little bit of homework on what she was riding in.

"That's quite an astute observation Miss Reid. Have you been doing some research? I didn't know you were that interested in tanks."

A hint of red coloured the female cadet's cheeks. Pearce had to wonder what she was embarrassed by. Was it his question?

"Well, I kinda read it over your shoulder the other day. You had that enormous book on tanks open in front of you, so I took a quick peek."

Pearce raised an eyebrow. Jo got a little bit more flustered at the inquisitive look he gave her. He evidently wasn't buying her story.

"Fine!" she exclaimed, "I went and read a few tank books so I didn't look like an idiot in conversation with you guys. But anyway, you didn't answer my question. Surely we could have withstood the enemy's fire and gone to help Wavell team?"

Pearce gave her what he thought was a wry smile. In reality, it was little different from his normal expression, just the corners of his mouth slightly upturned, and his eyes a little less distant.

"In normal circumstances yes, but the flag tank of our opponent carried an immensely powerful howitzer that would have torn open the Tiger's armour like paper on the battlefield. Just to provide an example, when it was deployed, the legend goes that the turret of a Tiger could be ripped off by the force of the shell alone. Thus they dubbed the SU-152 and its siblings as 'Zveroboy', or 'beast killer'."

Jo let out a low whistle.

"That's a pretty powerful shell," she remarked.

"Exactly. The howitzer's main weakness was its reload time, taking around 30 seconds to reload after every shot, dependent on the crew's skill. Hence, if we took it on after it had already fired, we could take their flag tank out with ease while they reloaded. By letting Wavell team take the hit, it expended the enemy's shot and gave us a window to retaliate. I didn't wish to risk the match for some misguided sense of duty."

"You would leave your comrades for the match?" Jo asked quietly, her face falling a little.

"Were it possible to achieve victory without losing teammates I would gladly take it, but if letting my comrades fall is the price of victory, such a cost can be paid. A good comparison would be the sacrifice of a knight to complete a checkmate in chess. It is a sacrifice for a greater prize. My role as team captain is to attain victory, and the consequences of my decisions are mine to bear. That is my responsibility, to win for our academy."

"Oh-ok," replied Jo, "Sorry for asking such a silly question. I'll see you later ok?"

Montgomery team's loader was a little put off by Pearce's answer to her question, the fact that he was unwilling to reciprocate the feelings of comradeship those who would be his friends somewhat perturbing. However, rather than press her friend for answers she probably didn't want to hear, Jo decided to join the rest of the crew, who greeted their friends as they parked up the other tanks in a loose formation on the dockside. In similar fashion, the scant few tanks from Kutusov that were still operational parked up close by on the dock. Animated conversations carried on between the cadets, some of them greeting their opposite numbers from the Russian academy. Pearce did not partake in the banter, instead standing at some distance from the clusters of students and mulling over the match and what he needed to do for the first round of the tournament.

The return of Wavell team went largely unnoticed by the diminutive captain, who instead busied himself with reading his book whilst he waited for the dock workers to start loading the tanks back onto the carrier. Similarly, Pearce did not pay attention to the small group of cadets listening to Amy Stuart, whose loud voice carried across the open space, apparently telling everyone exactly how the match ended. The same cadets came to surround the Tiger, where Pearce was reading Clausewitz, led by a smirking Clark.

"So that's how you chose to finish the match is it? Skulking at the back until you saw the opportunity for a cheap shot? I thought you were supposed to be a good strategist Pearce," Campbell team's leader sneered.

Choosing to put his book down, Pearce sat up from where he was, leant against the turret basket of the Tiger, to look at Clark with the same expressionless disposition as usual.

"Did it not deliver us victory? I believe that that was what you tasked me with, both in general as team captain and you more specifically, Miss Clark, when at the start of the match when you told me 'not to fuck it up'. I would say that there is no issue here, barring a little hurt pride, and maybe some opportunism on your part."

The last remark made Clark grit her teeth, both partly due to its veracity and its dismissiveness. She had wanted Pearce's job, that much was painfully clear, but to be called out on it by Pearce himself was infuriating. The sound of her teeth gritting seemed almost audible to some present.

"Sam, you left us hanging out to dry. We know there were other options," Amy accused.

"The one I chose was the most expedient, no more, no less. Anything else would have been needlessly overcomplicated."

"So you threw our team away because it was the easiest move to make?" the blonde-haired girl asked, slightly aghast at the statement.

"If you wouldn't mind me steppin' in," a casual voice interjected, as Chris strolled over to the group, hands in pockets, "Maybe I can explain a little better than the captain. First, let me ask ya a question. Did anyone get hurt in our tank Amy?"

"No," Amy replied, wondering a little where Chris was taking this.

"Did we win the match?"

"You know we did!" Amy's patience was beginning to wear through.

"Was there a fully viable and less complicated alternative to use?"

"There were other ways we could have won," Amy defended.

"Yes, but barring a little battering from that howitzer, and a couple of fresh bruises, was there anything fundamentally wrong or dangerous about the decision?"

"I guess not."

The students, who had been muttering before, were quiet now, and Clark had a scowl fully formed on her face.

"So why were you getting so worked up?" Chris asked.

"Because you ask too many questions!" Amy shouted, hitting Chris over the head, "And, I'm not really sure I'm okay with being used like that, especially without my knowledge," she finished quietly.

Chris rubbed his head where Amy had smacked him for theatrical effect, and then leaned a little closer to Amy, being stopped at a safe distance by a threatening fist.

"I don't know what Sam will do, but we'll have to see won't we?" he said quietly, before turning to the rest of the cadets who were watching the commotion.

"Now, all of you, go bother someone else, the captain was trying to read!" the tall cadet hollered.

As the crowd of cadets dispersed, somewhat pacified by the response Taylor had given them, Chris gave Sam a cheery smile before wandering off into the crowd, joking around and talking with various people. Pearce had yet to turn back to his book, nagged instead by the actions of his subordinate.

Why was Chris defending his position, the very same one he had opposed before the battle? It was unlikely that the logical side of battlefield tactics had appealed to Chris, even if he accepted the principle of them, because the captain of Wavell team was stubborn when it came to matters of pragmatism over comradeship. Even in purely theoretical positions, Taylor was known to sacrifice the ability to crush the enemy entirely to save but a few of his own men. The Wellesley captain was puzzled that Taylor would be supportive rather than angry over his decision.

As further vehicles filtered back to the dock, adding to the general noise of the area, Pearce's thoughts were interrupted again by the exact person he was considering.

"You look like your brain is frying," a casual voice remarked.

Evidently Pearce hadn't noticed Taylor coming back to blindside him.

"I should hope it is not, or this team will be without a captain," he responded dryly.

"Then what's bothering you?"

"You are," the diminutive captain stated.

"Care to expand on that statement, or shall I just assume the whole of me is the issue here?" Taylor said cheekily.

A raised eyebrow from Sam indicated that Taylor might not actually want an answer to that question; lest Pearce actually say that the latter assumption was true.

"You chose to support my position in front of your own team and you didn't spend a deal of your complaining loudly about my actions, unlike your driver, or Angela Clark."

Chris leaned in until he was fairly close to Pearce.

"Here's a secret. Friends support each other through thick and thin, and that's what I was doing. You don't have to do everything alone, man. At times a little compassion and friendship can be more useful than a whole bucket of logic," he said, patting Pearce on the shoulder, "I'll see ya later."

The lazy captain then wandered away from Pearce again with a cheerful wave, leaving the cadet with more questions than he started the conversation with. He leaned back against the turret again, hoping to avoid any more stress today while he pondered these conundrums. Unfortunately, he did not have long to consider such problems, as yet another person decided to interrupt his thoughts.

"Hey! Little man, I want to talk to you!" a very recognisable voice shouted at him.

Evidently the wrecked carcass of the SU-152 had been dragged in, as striding across the dock space was none other than Dmitry Kravchenko, trailed by Kristina.

Pearce hopped off his perch on the Tiger and waited for the big Russian to march over to him, bracing himself for the inevitable loud shouting that would occur, and the possible headache to follow. What Pearce wasn't expecting, was for Kutusov's captain to extend his hand towards him, and so he looked at the taller cadet quizzically.

"You do know how to shake hands right?" the Russian asked sarcastically.

Pearce chose to grasp Dmitry's hand firmly and shake it. The Russian grinned at Pearce, a toothy grin that would unnerve some people.

"Of course, I was questioning the implications of it, and if there were any veiled motives behind it. I'm somewhat surprised you aren't angry at me."

Dmitry rubbed the back of his head with his hand, a confused expression covering his visage.

"Why would I do that? You won, and it was a good match. It would be unsportsmanlike to get mad with people who beat us."

"I think Dmitry might have learned something from that match too," Kristina added, while Kravchenko pulled a face at her.

"That last shot was pretty good too, tell your gunner he did well. Getting that in while we were reloading was a pretty good move. However, little man, we will beat ya next time, and there won't be any little hill for you to hide on!"

"Or some woods for you to hide in!" Elliot chimed in helpfully as he wandered past, a wrench in his hands.

Dmitry growled at the joking insinuation of cowardice on his part.

"Then we'll have to see what the next occasion brings."

"I shall await you in the tournament, Mr Kravchenko. Perhaps you might even win if you face us."

"Ha! I'll see you later… Pearce," Dmitry said as he walked off.

The big man swept off to where his team was gossiping amongst themselves, followed rapidly by Kristina, who smiled and waved at Pearce briefly. The Kutusov students rapidly sprang into action once their commander arrived, organising their re-embarkation with hurried efficiency. Turning around to re-occupy his seat, Pearce found that the crew were already reloading the Tiger onto the carrier. Seeing that the majority of the students and equipment were back on board, the captain decided to find a seat elsewhere, while the very last of the material was put back on the Dauntless. A nearby bench beckoned to the dark-haired cadet, and he sat down to relax for a few minutes, this time uninterrupted. At least for a while.

Around ten minutes later, Pearce looked up as a shadow passed over his book. Hart stood there, a wry smile on his face.

"I think you are the last person we're waiting for, Mr Pearce. Would you care to re-embark?"

Pearce nodded in the affirmative, and the two strolled back towards the gangplank, where a few of the students manning the ship waited to cast off. The head was evidently in no hurry to let the students have much time on land. As the two began boarding, Pearce allowing Hart to go first, a voice stopped him and caused him to turn around.

"Sam?"

A blonde girl wearing a tan military jacket and a peaked hat was stood about 20 yards away from Pearce's position. Pearce blinked as he recognised the girl in front of him, matching her to his memories from several years before. Erwin did the same, reconciling the two images of her former friend into the cadet standing before her. She could have sworn the ghost of recognition and familiarity passed across Pearce's features before he once again schooled them into a disdainful look, devoid of emotion.

"Miss Matsumoto. It has been a long time," Pearce stated.

"I know. Do you remember me then?" Erwin asked.

"Of course, my memory is not defective. Am I to assume that you can recall me?"

"Definitely, there's no way I'd forget you Sam!"

Pearce's face showed more than a little contempt. She actually had the gall to claim she hadn't forgotten him after all this time. Exerting more than a little bit of self-control, he bit back the urge to raise his voice.

"How convenient. You managed to do just that for several years before now," he replied.

Erwin was taken aback by the venom in his comment, and more than a little confused. Surely he was the one who stopped sending messaging her?

"Did you not get my dispatches?" the blonde reki-jo asked.

"They stopped coming a long time ago," Pearce shot back, confusing her even further.

"You never replied! Don't you want to talk? There's so much we have to catch up on!" she called.

"I'm sure it can wait. You've had several years to say whatever you wanted to me, and I would have gladly listened. Thus, anything you want to say I'm sure we can put off a little longer, because it can't be that important. Good day, Miss Matsumoto, we'll meet again," Pearce said, walking up the ramp and onto the ship.

"Sam, wait! I've missed you! Don't just walk away from me!" Erwin shouted at Pearce's retreating form.

Erwin's final comments made Pearce pause as he strode up the gang-plank. None of his former friend's actions made sense. He hadn't received any communication from her for several years, but here she was claiming that she had never forgotten him, and in fact missed him. He would make sense of it later, the cadet decided, and continued on into the bowels of the ship, resisting the urge to turn round.

Watching as the cadet captain swept off into the ship without so much as a glance backward, his coat-tails disappearing through a hatch, Erwin dug her nails into her hands and forced herself to calm down. She didn't know what to feel, but none of it was positive. She would consider the issue later though, because by this point, the Oarai girls were probably looking for her. Fishing her phone out of her pocket, she saw no fewer than seven missed calls from different classmates, as her phone had been on silent. Hurrying off to find her friends, she decided that this issue could be resolved later. She would see Pearce again. What would happen when she saw him was a little less certain.

**Chapter End**

**There you have it! Another segment completed. I will freely admit this chapter is not my best work, I'm a little out of it and have had to deal with a lot of stuff since I came back from holiday, but I hope you enjoyed it. If you didn't, leave a review, I like getting some constructive criticism, and I might change this chapter a little dependent on your feedback.**

**Team Spotlight – Clinton Team**

**Katherine Armstrong – Captain**

**Favourite Tank – Merkava**

**Character Soundtrack – Melodic Instrumental Rock / Metal Arrangements #28 (I swear I don't own this channel, it just has some freaking epic music)**

**Katherine is the leader of Clinton team and one of the highest ranked students in the academy. At 18 years of age, she's in the same classes as the likes of Clark and Pearce. Her enormous drive to do well translates well to achievement, but it also leaves her sometimes a little drained and exhausted, as she doesn't know when to quit. Fortunately, neither does her team, so they get along well. Her inability to relax often brings her into conflict with Chris, whose inability to work usually ends with Katherine hitting him with a blunt object. Despite this, the two are close friends, and are slowly influencing each other positively. Katherine is also a superb cook, adding to her laundry list of talents. Appearances wise, Katherine is fairly short, on a similar level as Pearce, with medium length blonde hair, held up at the back.**

**Rosie Banks – Loader**

**A patient and kind person, Rosie doesn't really suit being a cadet at all, as she is almost completely pacific in her outlook towards people. This inability to hurt people makes her position in the tankery team questionable, yet she has no qualms with firing shells at her peers, as long as she isn't aiming the gun. Rosie is 17yrs of age and a somewhat larger girl, with soft features and short brown hair.**

**Alice Hughes – Gunner**

**Alice is Rosie's opposite number amongst the tankery crews. Boisterous and impatient, Alice loves throwing shells around the place, and would be bored just loading the gun or manning the radio. Not so good at throwing numbers around the place, Alice struggles academically, but like the rest of her team puts the utmost effort into anything she wants to do. Alice is also 17, but is immensely thin and blonde-haired. In true anime style, some could mistake her for an effeminate guy.**

**Caitlin Shaw – Communicator**

**Caitlin sometimes takes her job a little too seriously, and as the radio operator for Clinton team, this carries over into her radio responses. Prone to using three letter acronyms for everything she can, Caitlin occasionally forgets the usefulness of ordinary speech in communicating with her teammates. Caitlin is 18 years of age and one of the tallest people on the team, complimented by her flowing auburn hair. **

**Sean Briscoe – Driver**

**Sean feels a little out of place on this team, composed as it is of girls, and him as the sole lad. Thus, he knuckles down and gets to work, since he has decided that the best policy is to remain unnoticed by his fellow team members. Fully dedicated to the cadet life, Clinton team's driver is very at home taking orders, but does sometimes feel a little bit isolated. He is 17 years of age, average height but broad, with cropped black hair.**

**That's it for this time round, so I'll see you next time! (Hopefully a little more promptly too)**

**I'm going to put a poll on what I should write after I finish this (got to plan ahead). The basic selection is either an SAO fic based around a guild of older players, told by a teacher at the SAO survivor school, or a sequel to this work: GUP Open Warfare. Also, I'd love some suggestions for Pearce's character soundtrack.**

**Ja ne!**


	9. Chapter 9: Girls Und Planning

**Back off holiday, and needing to further the story. What better way than a new chapter! We haven't even started the tournament proper yet, and this is chapter 9! Take that rushed story-telling!**

**Some quick notes: I would love some suggestions on two things; one, my next fic (a long way off I know), and a character soundtrack for Pearce. The former is up as poll on my profile, it's basically either an SAO fic full of OCs, or a follow up tournament to this story, which will have some snappy name I can't think of now. The latter, on the other hand, has no such poll, and I would like your input. Obviously, it has to suit Pearce's character, but preferably something rock-esque, like the rest of the character themes thus far.**

**Rzhev, 1215hrs, Tuesday 21****st**** January**

"Erm, Miss Saemonza, have you seen Miss Erwin anywhere?" Yukari asked the Hippo-team gunner.

One eye closed as usual, Saemonza's brow furrowed as she tried to recall where she last saw her commander.

"I haven't, not for at least fifteen minutes," the reki-jo answered, "She vanished on me, like a regular Miyamoto Musashi. One minute she was there, and when I looked round, she'd gone. Ah well, she's probably just gone to use the bathroom. I'll ring her to check anyway."

Saemonza pulled a smart phone out of the bow case she habitually carried around, and began to search through her contacts. Yukari noticed that even the reki-jo's phone carried the golden Sanada crest that she was so fond of, decorating the case. After waiting for the phone to ring, Saemonza cancelled the call.

"No answer."

"She's been gone for quite a while too," Yukari mused, "I'll give her a call as well, just in case."

Yukari fished her phone out of her pocket and called the blonde-haired history enthusiast, getting a little distance between her and the rest of the group so she could hear the call a little better. The phone rang repeatedly, meaning that it was definitely on, but nobody answered. Eventually the call went to voicemail. A second and third attempt came to nought as well.

'She's probably got it on silent,' Yukari thought, 'I'll try again later,'

As Yukari turned to re-join her friends, a familiar voice called out to the class.

"Hey girls! How did you find the match?"

Striding over to the Oarai girls was Ami, evidently returned from her little excursion. She looked to be in a cheerful mood, much like usual.

"I liked it! I got to see the M10 Achilles in action, as well as the T-50 scout tank. They only built about 70 of them, so it was nice to see them employed in battle," Yukari replied enthusiastically.

"Well, we got to see both team's line-ups and some of their strategies, so it was good for us, I guess," Miho also responded.

Ami smiled at her students.

"Right then! Does anybody fancy getting something sweet to eat before we head back?" she asked.

A chorus of affirmatives greeted Ami, although Yukari decided to raise the issue of Erwin not being present.

"Erm, Miss Chouno, Erwin's not here. She wandered off a little while ago, and she's not come back yet. Shouldn't we wait for her?"

"We'll wait for her a little while. If you message her telling her where we're headed to, I'm sure she can make it there. She is one of the final year students after all, she should be able to get to that café we were in earlier without difficulty," Ami concluded.

"It should be easier actually," Saemonza interjected "I just remembered she's probably gone to see her friend she was talking about earlier, the one at Wellesley, so she'll be in town anyway."

Yukari tapped out a hurried text on her phone, informing Erwin of their imminent departure and destination. Signing it Guderian, she locked her phone and replaced it in her pocket.

After waiting for another five minutes, the Oarai girls began to leave the stands. Very few people remained around the spectators' area, meaning that their egress went very easily. Moving back into the quaint little town, the group of girls meandered down the main street, a well-appointed boulevard. The sky was clearing slightly, meaning that the weather was beginning to feel somewhat pleasant, although clouds were lingering on the horizon, threatening a return. The ten girls who had come to spectate the match were following somewhat normal behaviour, with Anzu as usual munching on her dried sweet potatoes, Saori hunting for cute boys and Mako providing cynical commentary for the latter's efforts. Yukari walked alongside Miho, who was remaining fairly quiet, as was the norm for the rather shy girl.

"Miss Nishizumi, what are you contemplating?" she asked.

Miho started at the question, as she was prone to do.

"Erm, well, I was thinking about our match, the one we have coming up. We have the first match of the tournament this year, and I was thinking about our opponents," Miho confessed.

"Well, we now have eight tanks, so disparity in numbers will be less prevalent hopefully, and the tanks we have are even better than before. Also, not to sound arrogant, but we are against a pair of teams that rarely get near the finals. Not that we should underestimate them, but we have a fair chance this time, rather than the slim to none odds we had against Kuromorimine," Yukari advised.

"If we take a look at last year's records, we should get a decent idea of what they field," Miho mused, "That should make formulating a strategy a lot easier. I doubt you'll need to do reconnaissance this time Yukari."

At that, Yukari pouted. She actually quite enjoyed her infiltration missions. Recovering quickly, she asked Miho a question.

"Miss Nishizumi, would you mind contacting Miss Erwin for me? She won't answer her phone for some reason. Maybe if she sees you called, she might answer."

"Oh, no problem."

Miho pulled her phone out and quickly rang Erwin. Receiving no response, she cancelled the call and put her phone away. She shook her head at Yukari to indicate the failure of the call. The loader's face fell a little at the news.

"Erwin will be fine Yukari," she counselled, "She's one of the strongest-willed people I know, much like her namesake."

Yukari flashed Miho a grin.

As the group arrived at the café, a quaint place next to the plaza where they had seen the tanks lining up for the match, they all ordered something sweet to snack on. Hana had gone for some form of cheesecake, Mako for a cupcake that looked more icing than sponge, Saori for some devilish-looking brownies with an exorbitant amount of chocolate chips, Miho for gingerbread, and Yukari had chosen a piece of luxuriant looking chocolate cake. The other members of the party had also chosen a treat to munch on too, primarily also of the cake variety. This the girls complimented with some lemonade or iced tea. Far from alone in the café, they spotted some of the uniformed cadets from earlier, sat quietly sipping drinks in one corner of the café. Choosing not to sit inside on what was beginning to look like a nice day, the girls decided to sit outside, but not before some raised voices drew their attention.

"So you're the infamous Black Forest girls eh? Can't say you look like much of a threat, although maybe that's why you lost the last two years," a cocky voice echoed across the café.

Seated near to each other towards the back of the cafe were two sets of students, one the upper echelon of Kuromorimine, the other a mixed group of students, clad in drab yellow shirts and white pants, which bore a shoulder insignia of a red bull over a yellow shield. Leading them was a tall, broad cadet with a crew-cut of blonde hair.

"That's George Abrams, Bradley's academy's leader," Yukari whispered to her friends.

A big smirk decorated Abrams' face, although the person he had directed the comment at, Maho, had ignored the jab and continued sipping at an iced tea. However, her second was not so composed, and so Erika decided to retort.

"That or you underestimate the strength of the competition in this tournament. With the attitude you have, you'll be lucky to get past the first round," she retorted.

"We never back down from a challenge! You'll see, we'll win this competition easily, first round be damned!"

Maho continued sipping her drink.

"You're just lucky you're not against us in the first round. It would be over fairly quickly if that occurred," Erika boasted.

"Pretty cocky yourself aren't you? You've lost in the finals two years in a row, so who's to say you have what takes either?"

The sound of Erika's teeth gritting seemed loud enough to shake the café. The Scharnhorst students that Yukari had spotted earlier were casting disapproving glances at the two groups making the noise. Maho, however, still seemed completely unperturbed, but decided to respond.

"Considering that we have had an unbroken run of nine wins, and then two consecutive final spots, I should say our credentials are self-evident," the older Nishizumi concluded.

Standing up abruptly with the rest of his cadets, Abrams led them towards the exit. As they were leaving the door, he called out to the Kuromorimine girls.

"I hope you're prepared to get another final slot added to your collection, if you get that far!" he taunted.

It was at this point that the older Nishizumi noticed her younger sister and her friends, stood there with somewhat baffled expressions on their faces. All but Anglerfish team excused themselves to their outside seating, leaving the five girls facing down the senior commanders of their greatest opponents. Regardless of the tension, Maho decided to address her little sister.

"Good afternoon Miho, I trust you are doing well?" she asked politely.

"I am big sister. I didn't spot you at the match earlier, although you must have been here to watch it, right?" Miho replied.

"We sat apart from the main stands, as we usually do at matches," the Kuromorimine commandant replied.

"What did you think of the match?"

Rather than Maho, Erika fielded this question, or rather, butted in before her superior could speak.

"It was acceptable, for rookies. We weren't overly impressed. That kid in Wellesley academy even had the temerity to use one of our tanks! Regardless, these aren't too much of a threat to us."

"It's strange how short some people's memories are with regard to such issues," Mako said absently.

Erika donned a thunderous expression, but kept her mouth shut. Mako's snarking had as usual had its desired effect, knocking the prideful tanker off her pedestal. Choosing to ignore that little exchange, Maho decided to ask Miho about the next match.

"I suppose your preparations are already in hand for your first match in the tournament?" she queried.

"We've begun training as much as possible again, and we have some strategies ready, but some detailed planning still needs to be done," Miho confessed, "What of your match? Are you prepared for it?"

"Our battle plans are well in hand," Maho replied conservatively.

"Ok then, big sister. It was nice to see you again, all of you," Miho said to the Kuromorimine girls, some of whom gave a smile at the comment.

Anglerfish team then departed the interior of the café and re-joined their colleagues outside, where the waitress had just arrived with their orders. Yukari also tried to raise Erwin again on the phone a couple more times, but these efforts also came to nought. Fortunately, about ten minutes later Hippo team's commander appeared, looking a little troubled. Sitting between Saemonza and Yukari, she said almost nothing beyond a greeting to her teammates.

"So, did you see your friend?" Saemonza questioned.

"Yeah, I saw him," Erwin answered, "He wasn't very pleased to see me."

"But you were best friends, surely he missed you," Yukari stated, somewhat disbelieving.

"I think something went wrong somewhere along the way. We used to exchange dispatches, but it seems that our communications were disrupted, almost like the plans for Lee's invasion of the North. It seems he feels like I just discarded him after a while."

"Did you try and explain that to him?" Saemonza asked.

"I tried, but he wasn't in the mood for talking apparently, and just boarded their school ship."

"Maybe you should try to sit down and talk about it when you next see each other?" Hana suggested from across the table, "Surely a logical and civil discussion might solve all of these problems?"

Erwin sighed, thinking about how hard it might be to get Pearce to sit down and talk.

"I feel it would be somewhat more like the Munich conference than an armistice, merely a guarantee for further hostilities. But it can't hurt to try, I suppose."

She gave Hana a wry smile.

"Thank you, Hana."

"You're welcome, Miss Erwin."

The blonde-haired girl picked up a menu, and began scanning it for a dessert to eat, before vanishing inside to order.

"If that guy keeps upsetting Erwin like that, he might end up my newest practice target," Saemonza stated, patting her bow-case angrily.

"I don't think that would be the best course of action," Yukari said nervously, trying to avert the gunner's wrath, "I think Erwin might still care about him, and would rather not have him peppered with arrows."

Saemonza adopted a thinking pose.

"Don't worry, I'll use the blunted ones re-enactors use. He'll still be intact after that."

Yukari face-faulted a little.

"Those things can break bones Miss Saemonza. Probably best not to use them either."

"Damn. I'll get him somehow."

**(At sea)**

Pearce sneezed.

"Someone's talking about you Sam. Popular with the ladies I'll bet," Chris said.

Pearce raised an eyebrow at him.

"I have a feeling it's probably a little more unfriendly than that," he muttered.

**(Back on land)**

"So Hana, how have you and your mother been doing?" Miho asked, "We haven't really seen her since the finals last term."

"Quite well actually," Hana responded, "She still thinks tanks are a little crude, but she respects my decisions and supports me on them. Shinzaburo played a big part in that too."

"That's good," Miho said, giving Hana a smile, "We were worried in the tournament that you and your mother were really at odds. I know that arrangement you made helped assuage her doubts, but it still felt like you were distant from each other at the end of last term."

Miho took a sip of her lemonade. It was now fairly warm outside, and even in the relatively light and airy Oarai uniform, she was beginning to feel the temperature. The cool beverage helped keep that feeling at bay. Glancing up, she noticed Hana giving her one of the serene smiles she so often sported.

"I think that rift is closing, Miho. But what about you, are you and your sister on good terms?" the gunner asked, skilfully avoiding the thorny issue of Miho's mother.

"Big sister sees me more often now that Kuromorimine is on better terms with me and our school as a whole. I like spending time with her, and we get along well. However," Miho said, as her face fell, "Whenever my mother is around, she becomes colder, more distant, and less like the sister I love. I'm sure you saw that in the finals."

"But why does she do that?" Hana asked.

"You remember when I told you that we are from a long line of tankers? The Nishizumi school has to continue, and so one of Shiho Nishizumi's, my mother, children must inherit the style. The Nishizumi style revolves around being utterly unfazed by anything, taking on all challenges and defeating them head on."

"So your sister follows the Nishizumi style? Could she not refuse to do so?"

"One of the family must take on the responsibility of the Nishizumi style before they become the heiress. By doing so, big sister took the pressure off my shoulders to conform to that style. She did it because she knew I hated the Nishizumi style and would have been miserable as heiress."

"That's one supportive big sister," Saori said.

"I know," Miho said, "And I love her for it, but I sometimes feel a little guilty that she's sacrificed so much for me, so I can live life my own way."

"And by doing so, she's allowed you to create your own style, and allowed a great commander to lead us to victory!" Yukari exclaimed.

"Yeah! We're behind you all the way Miporin! All of our team, right guys?" Saori shouted, getting various nods and affirmations of approval.

Despite having witnessed this level of support from them several times before, Miho was still struck by the level of comradeship her team was showing, and the support and trust they invested in her. Taken a little aback, she responded in her characteristic manner.

"Thank you very much!"

**Carrier Zuikaku – 1600hrs**

It had taken the Oarai girls a few hours to return to their carrier after their refreshing lunch, and the team captains, along with Anglerfish team, had gathered to discuss the strategy for their upcoming match with the combined team of Bonple and Waffle. Seated in the student council office in front of the whiteboard, as had become their habit, they looked to Momo to begin the briefing. Ami was also present in this meeting, having taken John's advice about being supportive to heart.

"For our first match, which is on Monday, we are playing Bonple High School and Waffle Academy. Bonple as you may be aware is a Polish-styled school, whilst Waffle is Belgian. Neither of them made it past the first round last year, but by combining their forces they could become more of a threat in the competition. Miss Chouno, could you explain how the paired teams work?" Momo opened the meeting.

"As the combined teams are those who were deemed the weakest by the league, they are allowed to use up to the limit of tanks normally allowed to one team, each. This means that teams could theoretically field 20 tanks the first round when combined, although none of the teams who are combined have anywhere near that sort of numbers," Ami explained, "Flag tanks are to be decided between the commanders of the pair of teams."

"What do we know about Bonple and Waffle's line-up?" Azusa asked.

"Based on what they fielded last year it will be like this," Yukari said, pulling a few printed pages out of her military rucksack.

Spreading them out on the table, the papers were revealed to be reports of the matches, uploaded to an internet news site. The gathered captains were taken a little aback by the staggeringly small numbers of the two schools. Between them it seemed that they could only field about ten tanks, proving Ami right in regards to the fairness of the teaming rules.

"In their match with Pravda, Bonple fielded 2 TKS tankettes, the later versions armed with 20mm heavy machine guns, a twin turret and a single turret 7TP and one of the 10TP prototype tanks," Yukari stated as Miho, Nekota and Caesar gazed at the Bonple vs Pravda report.

"Huh? Waffle has a Sherman?" Noriko asked.

"Yes, it's armed with a 105mm Howitzer," Yukari replied, "But they only have one. They also field some Renault AMC 35s, usually three, and a Vickers T-15. Neither of the schools have particularly large arsenals of vehicles, and in some ways we were lucky when we started back up tankery, because our school had a fairly powerful, if mismatched, fleet of tanks in comparison with some of the other schools."

"So how well does this team stack up against ours?" Anzu queried, reclining in her office chair as per typical behaviour.

"Only the 105mm in the Sherman is a particularly powerful gun, especially if it packs HEAT rounds."

"HEAT?" questioned Momo

"High Explosive Anti-Tank," Miho and Yukari replied, almost in perfect synchronisation.

"They're rounds which lose almost no power over great distance," Miho explained, "Other than that, most of their weapons will fail to pierce the front armour of the Panzer, Hetzer, Tiger or the Sturmgeschutz. At best, they could pierce the M3 and the Chi-Nu, but the sloping might also deflect them. What seems likely, given the fairly manoeuvrable nature of their tanks is that they will try to hit our flanks and rear, to get shots on our vehicles' less well-armoured sides."

"That and some of their tanks are only armed with machine guns, which makes them almost obsolete against our vehicles," Yukari finished.

"So you're saying that it's gonna be a walk in the park!" Noriko exclaimed.

"No," Miho cautioned, "We already paid for that mistake during our Pravda match if you remember. Just because they look like weak schools doesn't mean they can't beat us. I mean, Kuromorimine, Pravda, Saunders, in fact all the schools we faced looked down on us as some weak school from nowhere. We can't afford to be arrogant. I admire Duck team's enthusiasm, but there is a line between having high morale and being gung-ho."

Ami smiled approvingly. Miho's steadily growing confidence in her own command was really helping her maintain control of her team.

"Who leads them?" Momo decided to ask.

"I couldn't get any pictures of them, but the two commanders are called Celine Gorski and Sabine Aarden, and they command Bonple and Waffle respectively. From what I've seen of their matches when they were shown, they're both quite professional, but I would say Celine has the stronger personality, so she'll probably end up leading the team, as Waffle occasionally struggle with decision-making. Either way, they're both experienced, and know how to use what they have. If they work together well, they may pose a challenge," Yukari said, using her vast repository of tank-related knowledge.

Miho counted her lucky stars that she had such a powerful intelligence asset as Yukari on her team. If the brown-haired tank fanatic had attended another school, who knows how much she could have affected their fortunes, and the Oarai girls were grateful that Yukari was on their team.

"So what's our plan then Miss Nishizumi?" Caesar inquired, "How are we going to make this a veritable Magnesia, with us taking the part of the Romans?"

"Well, the terrain is fairly open, scattered copses, a few hills, right Ami?"

Ami nodded.

"Our venue this time is at Shiranuka, Hokkaido. Open terrain, mostly grassland and scrub, with scattered copses. Hills are numerous although small in size, meaning that the terrain is rolling but not overly steep, promoting rapid movement, and allowing smaller tanks to hide in folds in the landscape. Expect to be doing a lot of manoeuvring in this battle."

"Therefore, I believe that we should have two skirmish lines in our formation, approach the enemy quickly and try for an engagement. Remember, we can't afford to chase them everywhere, so this formation should give us some mutual support and depth to our line, so they can't get behind us very easily. President Kadotani, I think your Hetzer can be our flag tank this round," Miho said as she laid out her strategy.

"Ok then Nishizumi," the diminutive girl said.

"If we do get split up, we have eight tanks, so pairs at minimum should be our operational units so we can support each other. Paired units will contain one of the heavier tanks in our arsenal and one of our lighter tanks so they can provide mutual support. Is everyone ok with that?"

A round of pleased confirmations echoed through the room. Miho gave them all a cheery smile.

"Is there anything anyone would like to add?" Momo asked.

Nobody piped up, heralding that the meeting was essentially at an end.

"Ok then! Now that we're all au fait with Miho's plan, I think this meeting is concluded. You can have the rest of the day to yourselves, and we will start team practice bright and early tomorrow, so you can further prepare for your match," Ami declared.

Mako groaned, prompting several of the students present to giggle.

"So, shall we go hang out at mine?" Saori asked, "We can make something for tea together."

"That sounds nice Saori," Hana answered, with the rest of the team unanimously agreeing with her.

The two co-commanders for Hippo team also left for their shared house together, heading out of the central office building into the refreshing air of the early evening. It was bracing outside, making Erwin glad she wore her customary coat, but also making her simultaneously curse the dress code of the school for their non-optional policy on skirts. She'd once worn a pair of soldat's desert combat pants to school, only to be reprimanded within two minutes of arrival by Sodoko. Just to spite her, the rest of her friends had also augmented their outfits for the next day, with Caesar wearing a tunic and muscled cuirass, Oryou in a formal kimono, and Saemonza in the ribbed armour of the Sengoku period, replete with war bow. Erwin had completed the group, swapping her school uniform for a fallschirmjager's equipment, including the jump smock and steel helmet. The helmet had been a present, brought back from holiday by Pearce when they were 14. Erwin tried to shake the thought from her head.

Noticing that her friend seemed a little out of it, Caesar snapped her fingers, breaking Erwin out of her reverie.

"You have the look of Pompey at Pharsalus. Is there something wrong?"

"No, nothing. I'm as happy as a soldaten receiving his Iron Cross."

"Really? You look like as happy as a soldaten receiving it posthumously then," Caesar said sarcastically.

Leaving the school campus, they turned towards the stern of the ship, heading for their house.

"I keep remembering the time I spent with Sam before he moved away, and then comparing it to what he was like when I met him earlier," the blonde-haired girl confessed.

"And this troubles you?" Caesar asked, adjusting the flowing end of her sagum to better cover her neck.

"It does. He used to be open, at least to me, even if he was quiet to most people. When I saw him earlier, his eyes were dark, his usual smile gone, almost nothing discernible about his personality. It was like someone had hidden everything about him behind a wall of apathy and condescension. What's worse is that from what he said, he thinks I'm responsible."

"But you know that you're not responsible," Caesar counselled, "Your job is purely to make him realise that too, or give him up as a lost cause. And you and I both know that an Erwin never gives up their cause without a fight."

"You can be damn sure I won't," Erwin growled, "Now I just need to figure out how I win."

Little more was said between the pair as they continued their way home, Caesar content to have roused her friend's morale, and Erwin already planning how her next meeting with Pearce was going to go.

**2000hrs**

Connected to each other via skype, Anteater team had met up online, as was their habit, in their favourite online tank game.

"So, Nekota, how did the meeting go?" Momoga asked over the microphone.

"Nishizumi said that the Hetzer was going to be the flag tank for our team this time round. We're facing what seems to be a force of fairly light tanks too, and they don't really have the firepower to take on our big hitters. This means that they might target our team and others like it, as our armour is weaker," Nekota relayed to her friends.

"So they're going to try sniping the supports rather than taking our Carry players?"

"That means we'll have to put extra practice time in," Piyotan reminded her teammates, "We may even have to push raid night back a little so we have more spare time."

"Seriously? But I just reached max level, and we've got another two heavy tanks in our guild!" Momoga complained.

"We can always just raid later, I mean we'll get the day off after our match next week," Nekota offered.

"I suppose that's true."

"Anyway Momoga, watch your right flank, that T-34's making a dash for you, he just got our Wolverine on that side," Nekota advised, observing the battlefield from an M4 Sherman.

Anteater team's gunner swung her StuG round to the right, letting a shot fly that went straight through the T-34's gun mantlet, disabling the weapon in the process. Another shot brewed the tank up and put it out of commission. This let Piyotan's KV-1 roll forward entirely unmolested by enemy fire, smashing vehicles to bits left and right.

"Why can't tank driving be like this in real life?" Piyotan sighed.

"Because different kinds of tanks don't get neatly matched against each other based on power, something we found out last term when Kuromorimine put us out of the battle in one shot," Nekota explained.

"Then we just have to punch above our weight!" the Chi-Nu gunner exclaimed.

"Here or in the match?" Nekota asked, "Because we'll struggle to punch out these IS tanks that have just turned up."

A new map had just been generated, indicating that the Anteater team girls were the lowest tier of tanks in the game, and several Iosif Stalin tanks were setting up on the opposite team.

"In the match!" Piyotan answered.

**Carrier Dauntless – the same time**

"James, are you ready? They only have one heavy tank on their team, so this should be a cakewalk," Chris sent over the microphone to his gunner.

"I'm ready, but you should see the stats on one of their platoons. Their M4, StuG and KV-1 have over 25,000 games logged each! Their ratings are so high it's ridiculous!"

"They're probably some stay-at-home gamers who don't do anything else though," Chris replied, "It's not like we'll ever meet them in real life."

He couldn't really have got it more wrong.

In his own dorm, several blocks away from where his subordinate was getting annihilated by the Anteater team, Pearce sat at his desk, struggling to concentrate on his work. His thoughts were frequently invaded by a blonde-haired girl, much like her counterpart had invaded Libya and Egypt. Sadly, rather than Montgomery, it seemed the general in charge of his thoughts was Auchinleck, and as a result he was failing to stem the tide. Reaching for the picture frame he had deliberately set face down, he gazed at the image of a younger Erwin.

"Did you mean what you said today?" he asked her picture, before resetting it face-down.

"Did you really miss me?" he murmured.

**Chapter end**

**I know this chapter was a little short, but I thought it would give adequate space to set up some further stuff and give Oarai some time to themselves in this story, which has centred quite a bit on Wellesley academy. I hope you enjoyed this latest offering. The final section, based on the indomitable game World of Tanks, was inspired by CaptainSentry, whose story I highly recommend for fans of both the game and Girls Und Panzer. Also, for those of you who saw me post a second fic on this site, it's only the opening. I won't prefer it to this one, it's just there because the idea came into my head and I had to write it down. This fic is my priority, as I honestly like GUP more than SAO, and I'm determined not to abandon my fics like many authors do.**

**Next time on Girls Und Panzer: Open Warfare…**

**Tanks! (Shock!)**

**Battles**

**Nonsense**

**Additional levels of Yukari!**

**Team Overview – Wavell team**

**Commander – Christopher Taylor (Already Covered)**

**Hannah 'Hawkeye' Stuart** – At 18 years of age and one of the most well-known girls at the academy, Hannah is the oldest of the Stuart siblings. Her stunning looks, being tall, blonde-haired and with a nice figure, garner quite the bit of attention. However, her cool demeanour also means that the same people admiring her figure are often shot down. She is the gunner for Wavell team and while not the fastest aimer, can hit her target with high levels of accuracy. She is careful, cautious and precise, excelling at subjects which require attention to minutiae.

**Amy Stuart** – The younger Stuart sibling, Amy is 16 years of age and is the driver for Wavell team. Unlike her sister in many ways, she is far more volatile and open with her feelings, and people who cross her often receive a tirade of insults. Her most frequent target is her own team's captain, as Taylor often teases her, especially about her stature. Attractive, but not stunning like her sister, Amy is petite where her sister is tall and full-figured. Amy wears her blonde hair fairly short, with her fringe swept to the left. Amy is the fire to Hannah's ice, and careens across the battlefield with impulsive though effective driving.

**James Duggan** – The 17 years old loader for Wavell team, James is the most timid of the team. He is often flustered by the unexpected and can break down under pressure. Of medium height and slight build, James tops off his look with a mop of blonde hair, his eyes peeking out from underneath. When it really matters, James is quiet and efficient, loading rapidly and smoothly with practiced ease. When he can take a break James is often found playing video games, of any and all sorts, sometimes online with Chris.

**Olivia Chambers** – The communicator for Wavell team, Olivia is in the same class as Taylor, Hannah and the other 18 year olds. Unlike some of her teammates, especially her captain, she takes work very seriously, and is a stickler for the rules. This leads her to argue and berate Chris a great deal, as her need to be early for everything clashes with his almost Kakashi-like levels of tardiness. If anything, the excuses he makes up for being late are more irritating than his actual lateness for Olivia. Miss Chambers is of medium height, with circular glasses, and ginger hair done up in a ponytail. She does however respect Taylor, as his concern for those around him is admirable.


	10. Chapter 10: Waffle-ing On

**Hey guys! It's me, back with another chapter of this story. I'm moving back to uni soon, so I don't have a lot of time on my hands, what with packing and whatnot, so this chapter may be a little later than usual. This chapter actually marks the tenth chapter in this fic, something I never expected to reach. It also marks the beginning of this term's tankery tournament (finally), and so without further ado, let us proceed. **

**Friday, 24****th**** January – Carrier Dauntless – 1700hrs**

"This concludes our practice for the day, cadets," John announced to his students, as usual assembled in precise ranks on the parade ground.

The week's practice had gone like clockwork for the Wellesley team, primarily composed of simple drills for the crews to hone their skills. On occasion the senior team had turned up to offer advice and the odd competitive practice, although more along the lines of shooting contests instead of all-out battle. Some teams, Hart saw, had accomplished a constant level of proficiency which they now strove to maintain, whilst others had worked to catch up to their compatriots. The number of crashes from Russell team was down 50% compared to the previous week, and Hobart team had actually had so little maintenance to do that they could leave on time for once. Really the only things to mar a thus-far successful week had been Wavell team throwing a tread during Wednesday's session, and the fact that Pearce had been even more reticent to hold discussion than usual. Placing these points to the back of his mind, Hart chose to make his announcement to his cadets.

"On Monday the tournament for this term kicks off in earnest. Oarai, the last term's champions, are facing a combined force of two schools, Bonple and Waffle. I will be going to watch this match personally and there is space for me to be accompanied by five others. Firstly, are there any captains that wish to go?" he asked.

Turning expectantly to the students stood in line with him, he saw that almost all of the captains had raised their hands. Only Elliot, Hobart team's captain, had elected not to put himself forward, most likely so he could continue maintenance on the team's machines. Of course, Hart had also been informed by Pearce that Elliot was also working on some battlefield accoutrements to help the team in specific combat situations, and presumably needed more time to work on them.

With Elliot staying behind that left eight captains who wished to go and watch the first match. Hart would have to choose. Obviously it would be wise to take the team captain, so Pearce was a forgone conclusion, leaving four places. Russell team could use more practice, so perhaps Stephen should stay to gain the maximum benefit from training. Seeing no other way to choose between those remaining, Hart decided to choose randomly.

"Of you who have raised your hands, the following will be accompanying me to the first match: Samuel Pearce, Katherine Armstrong, Anna Rowley, Liam Andrews and Simon Williams. The remainder of you captains will help oversee training on the Monday, assisted by Major Thomas, who has kindly offered to step in while I'm gone," Hart announced.

"Aww, I was looking forward to a day off," Chris griped under his breath, eliciting a raised eyebrow from Pearce, who was stood next to him.

"Sometimes I question if you have the ability to work at all, Mr Taylor," remarked Pearce, who ahd heard the muffled statement.

"By your standards, very few people work at all," Chris shot back.

On Hart's other side, Liam and Simon were also conversing with each other quietly.

"Somehow I reckon Angie's gonna be quite irritated with us for taking her place on this field trip," Simon muttered to Liam.

"Nah, with any luck she'll just get angry with the captain instead."

"Heh. You reckon it'll be a good match?"

"It depends on which side displays the most _arte_ _et_ _marte_ (skill and valour), if Livy is to be believed," the brown-haired lad drawled back to his comrade

"You know I hate it when you quote Latin at me, dude. It makes as much sense as feudalism does to you," Simon replied.

The mutterings amongst the captains subsided as Hart cleared his throat, evidently wishing to speak again.

"Now that the observation group is settled, I wish to remind everyone that we will be having short practice sessions tomorrow and Sunday as well, as our first match is the following Monday after this one. So, we'll meet here at 1000hrs tomorrow morning, and finish at 1600hrs."

A few groans could be heard from certain members of the crowd, who obviously thought that their weekends would be nice and quiet.

"Dismissed!"

The assembled students disbanded, each heading for their own objective, be it their dorm, a canteen, or another extra-curricular activity. For once, rather than returning to the vehicle sheds, Elliot strolled alongside Pearce, both heading towards their college dorms, situated as they were adjacent to each other.

"Have you made much progress on the applique armour?" Pearce asked.

"I have found that it is within league rules to do so, and the clasps I'm going to fix to them allow them be jettisoned when they're ruined so we can get a bit of manoeuvrability back."

"Superb. Since you seem to be finished then, why did you not want to come and watch the match?"

Elliot rubbed his chin as if deep in thought, before giving a nonchalant shrug.

"Well, I guess I just wasn't interested. It seems like this match might be a stomping, if both teams' records are any indication, and I want to see some real competition. I mean, I doubt you are expecting much different, right? Why are you going?"

"I'm always interested in watching battles play out, but I'm also intrigued by the Oarai team," the diminutive captain replied.

"How so?" the engineer questioned.

"They have a fairly average line-up of tanks if last term's matches were any indication, but they seem to possess a great deal of drive, enthusiasm and grit to get so far. I want to analyse it."

"I hope you get something useful out of this trip then Sam."

Having reached the point at which their paths would diverge, they said courteous farewells to each other and departed for their own individual dorms. Pearce slowly made his way back to his lodgings, far from the usual noise of the academy. Removing his coat and boots and relaxing into his desk chair, he took another look at the photo on the shelf.

"I hope I do too, Elliot."

**Monday, 27****th**** January – Shiranuka, Hokkaido – 1000hrs**

Looking up at the carrier as their tanks were unloaded from the massive vessel, the Oarai girls sheltered from a chill wind. The day looked to be fairly pleasant, but speedy and constant gusts of wind dropped the ambient temperature by several degrees, leaving the schoolgirls somewhat cold.

"It feels almost as cold as when we fought Pravda," Saori stated, rubbing her hands together and blowing on them.

"I don't think it's quite that cold Saori," Hana replied.

"We should also be glad it isn't raining," Miho pointed out, gesturing at the relatively clear sky, "We could have had some issues with mud later today if it had been raining a lot, and since we have the heavier tanks, it could have been bad for us."

Leopon team shared looks between themselves at Miho's comment. The Porsche Tiger would certainly have struggled in muddy conditions with its drive system, even with the efforts of the automotive club keeping it going.

"Has everyone remembered which tank pair they are assigned to?" Momo asked the group.

"We're with Turtle team!" Karina declared for the Rabbits.

"Leopon's rolling with the Chi-Nu," Nakajima said in her usual lackadaisical tone.

"The Sturmgeschutz is with the Type 89," Erwin reported.

"Which leaves Sodoko with us," Mako said, ignoring the offended look from the Ethics Committee leader.

A low grumble from the edge of the docks indicated that the loading equipment was being moved away, a sure sign that Oarai's tanks were unloaded and ready to go. The girls clambered aboard, starting the engines up and slamming the hatches shut, letting the heat of the engines slowly warm up the crew compartment, whilst the sturdy hulls of their vehicles shielded them from the biting wind. The loud grumble of the engines' starting settled into the familiar resonant hum of idling tanks, allowing Miho to tap into the radio net and contact her compatriots.

"Firstly, we need to move to the rendezvous point for the two teams, roughly three miles outside of the town, before retiring to our deployment locations. Everybody ready?"

"Leopon team ready."

"Assault III is prepared."

"Mallard is ready."

"Hetzer ready."

"Chi-Nu readied up."

"Volleyball club ready!"

"Rabbit team ready!"

"Panzer IV prepared for your orders Miss Nishizumi."

"Let's move out then," Miho ordered, as Mako neatly pivoted the Panzer towards the correct route away from the docks, trailed by the team's other vehicles, who formed a column behind their leader.

Almost as an afterthought, Miho decided to contact the Hetzer of Turtle team, the flag tank for the upcoming match.

"I'm sure you already know this President Kadotani, but the rear armour of the Hetzer is surprisingly thin. Whilst many of their tanks still only carry MGs, it is worth noting that you should always maintain facing towards the enemy. Rabbit team, since you are the partner for Turtle team, you will have to help cover them should they be outflanked."

"We understand," Momo confirmed.

"We'll cover the Student Council," Azusa replied.

"Another thing I would like to suggest is that we let Azusa take command in this match so she can get some experience. I mean we're all leaving at the end of the academic year, and we need someone to replace us as commander," Miho stated.

Ignoring Momo's shout of "What!?", Anzu responded in a far calmer tone than her subordinate.

"Sure! Let her give it a try. Just make sure she knows that we can help her if she gets stuck."

A short drive through the quiet streets of Shiranuka brought the Oarai girls to the meeting point for the teams. It appeared that their opponents were already there, as evidenced by the ten vehicles lined up behind their captains. The tanks themselves were somewhat uninspiring, hammering home to Oarai the sheer imbalance of power within the Tankery tournament. Kuromorimine could have fielded very few of their vast array of vehicles against either of these teams in the past and most likely fought a close match, as their heavies would simply shrug off rounds from their opponents' tanks. Also, unlike some of the bigger teams, who changed their composition every match to counter attempts at planning, Bonple and Waffle both maintained the exact same composition of tanks as the previous term, suggesting that they simply couldn't. From what Miho knew of them as schools, this was most certainly the case, as neither were particularly wealthy institutions, and so they simply couldn't afford new vehicles.

Stood at the front of the formation were two girls that Miho recognised from the files Yukari had provided. One was a tall blonde girl with an impassive expression, and the other, an average-sized brown-haired girl with a cheery smile. The latter was Sabine Aarden, captain of Waffle's tankery team, whilst the former was Celina Gorski, the leader of Bonple's team. The contrast between the two of them was further heightened by the differences in uniform. Celina was wearing a dark green/grey uniform jacket and pants, with her long hair flowing down over the shoulders, whilst Sabine was in a relatively light blue jacket and a white skirt, her short brown hair framing her face neatly.

The Oarai girls halted their iron steeds across from their opposite numbers, with Anzu and Miho leaving the comforting warmth of their tanks to meet their opponents. Miho rubbed her hands together for warmth as the pair paced towards Celina and Sabine. While they walked, Miho spotted the flag for the opposing team, firmly affixed to their Sherman, which was logical given its toughness compared to the rest of their tanks.

"Hey there!" Anzu hollered cheerfully at the two captains, with Sabine giving a friendly wave back to the council president.

Meeting in the centre of the field, next to the judges for the match, Miho shook hands with the two captains.

"It is nice to meet you, Miho Nishizumi," Celina said, her voice measured and polite, "I am Celina, the overall commander for this team today. I am from Bonple High School."

"It is nice to meet you too, Celina," Miho replied, before shaking hands with Sabine.

"I'm Sabine, and I lead Waffle team in the tournament, but I'm not the one in charge today."

"Can I ask why?" Miho queried.

"We decided fairly and in an unbiased manner that I should lead," Celina stated.

"How?"

"Rock, paper, scissors," Sabine said, pouting as she did so.

To Celina's credit, she kept a remarkably straight face as her erstwhile partner described their selection method.

"All joking aside of course, we would like to congratulate you in person for beating Kuromorimine and the others last term. We thought it showed that it doesn't matter how much money you have, because as long as you work hard enough you can win."

"Yeah! Tankery is a sport, and as long as you put effort in and enjoy yourself, it shouldn't matter how you do," Sabine chipped in.

Miho wasn't sure whether to blush at the compliment, act modestly, or do her usual emotional outburst. She settled for all three.

"Thank you very much! But I'm not sure I deserve much credit for our win. My team did all the hard work for the wins we got."

Both of the captains looked at Miho quizzically. Anzu rolled her eyes at Miho's excessive modesty.

Choosing to interrupt the conversation, one of the judges coughed to get their attention.

"If you are all ready, return to your vehicles and move to your starting locations so we can start the match."

The two pairs split away from each other after bowing to one another, walking back to their rank of tanks.

"She doesn't seem like much," Celina observed to her comrade.

"Well neither did Katyusha, and we both know how our matches against her have gone since."

**(On a nearby ridge)**

Wellesley's chosen group had established position on a ridge slightly away from the main stands. Hart had driven one of the academy's Kangaroo carriers from the docks, and had parked it just behind where they were sat, reclining on chairs which they had brought along.

Observing the pre-match greeting, Hart surveyed the rosters of vehicles that both teams had assembled.

"Well guys, what do you think of the two teams based on line-up?"

"It's probably going to feel like the Horns of Hattin for Bonple and Waffle, with them taking the part of the crusaders," Simon replied.

"I concur," said Pearce, "A group of pre-war tankettes and tanks, bolstered by a single Sherman, cannot hope to take down a team whose elements include a Panzer Mark IV, a Porsche Tiger, and a Hetzer. Even if Oarai had had only one hour total training before this point, their tanks are so far superior to their opponents' that the result is a foregone conclusion."

"Indeed," Anna added, "Were this tankery unlimited, as they practice in America, perhaps Bonple and Waffle could have upgraded their tanks to mount superb armament, but in this tournament they are sadly far outmatched, as they are bound to use technology from the period."

"Ditto," stated Liam, his nose already in a book.

"Surely Kuromorimine also felt the same way when they faced Oarai in the finals of last term's tournament, and did they not fall to an inferior opponent?" Hart asked.

"Oh undoubtedly," Pearce responded, "But that was also a judgement based on the line-up of their tanks and Oarai's relatively unknown status, leavened with arrogance. However, one must also factor in other strategic exigencies such as terrain, command, and veterancy of the crews before coming to conclusions. In this instance, practically all of those points are in Oarai's favour."

"Hence making the result a foregone conclusion," Katherine concluded.

"But we should not necessarily count Bonple and Waffle out just yet," Liam cautioned, "As Ovid says, Ut desint vires, tamen est laudanda voluntas (Although the power is lacking, the will is commendable)"

At least half of the group looked at the brown-haired literature lover uncomprehendingly, until Hart decided to translate it for them.

"See!" Simon exclaimed, "It's not just me who can't understand you speaking Latin!"

(**Back at the Front)**

Oarai's deployment was to the relative south-west of the battlefield's centre, on a slight rise in the ground. A few folds in the ground helped conceal the deployment of their opponents, positioned to the north-east, and so prevent any early engagement before both teams could fully prepare. Oarai's tanks were in their usual wide single rank for the start of the battle, whilst Bonple and Waffle's tanks were clearly delineated from each other, the Polish and Belgian tanks obviously separated. Celina and Sabine had positioned their vehicles adjacent to each other so that they could talk, Sabine in her Sherman, and Sabine in the 10TP.

"Let's get through these matches together, and then we can worry about beating each other," Celina said to her counterpart.

"Of course. Its best that teams like ours stand together, or we'll just fall on our own."

"Remember, we only need their Hetzer. If their flag tank was the Porsche it would be almost impossible to win, but the Hetzer is still a tough prospect. Lure them in and split their tanks apart, and then we can pounce on the little tank."

"Got it!"

Both commanders slammed their tank hatches shut and prepared for the coming battle.

On Oarai's side of the field, all of the crews were preparing themselves for combat, much the same as their counterparts. The Rabbits checked the functionality of all three of the tank's guns, Leopon team checked over their temperamental mount one more time, Anteater team put their handhelds into the stowage bins, and Mallard team checked their uniform to make sure it was up to code. Anzu cracked open her last dried sweet potato before the match, Momo adjusted her monocle and the Ducks finished warming up. Hippo team smoothed out their outfits, Erwin adjusting her hat.

"This is clearly going to be like the battle of Bovianum."

"Definitely more like Konodai."

"I think it will be more like Gazala."

"That's it!"

In the Panzer, Anglerfish team finished their preparations too. For the most part, this consisted of Mako having a coffee, Saori setting the radio network perfectly, Yukari arranging the ammo bin correctly and Hana adjusting her sights. Miho took a sip from a bottle of water and then replaced that in stowage. She turned to Azusa, who was sat up in the turret cupola of her M3 Lee, and addressed the first year captain.

"Azusa, since most of us are leaving at the end of this year, we're going to need a new captain at the start of the new academic year," Miho began, noting the look of surprise as Azusa followed the statement to its natural conclusion.

"Y-you want me to be the captain?" Azusa choked out.

"You are the only first year team after all, and you showed a lot of talent in last term's tournament," Miho said earnestly.

"But Miss Nishizumi, why say this now?" the fresher asked.

"I would like to give you the reins in this match," Miho said, and carried on as Azusa was about to protest, "Don't worry, this match will be good practice for you, and if you're struggling you can always pass command back to someone. Once we get underway I'll announce it to the other teams."

Mulling over it for a few seconds, Azusa gave a relatively timid nod to Miho.

"I'll do it!"

Miho gave Azusa a warm smile, whilst the Rabbit team girls chuckled inside their tank.

"We told her she was like Miss Nishizumi, and now she's proved us right!" Ayumi giggled.

The Rabbit team captain ignored the mirth occurring inside her vehicle to listen to Miho as she spoke to her again.

"Do you know what formation you would like to adopt in this match?" Miho asked.

"Well, you advised all the teams on the vulnerabilities of our tank destroyers, namely their flanks and rear, so I would place both Turtle and Hippo teams at the front and centre to maximise their protection. Then perhaps our heavy tanks to their sides, with the remainder of our force trailing."

Miho followed Azusa's plan carefully, coming up with her own suggestions as she did so.

"Might I suggest that the formation is somewhat staggered? A single line is fairly inflexible, so by creating some depth we allow manoeuvre, and it helps us against being flanked. Also, while keeping our tanks together gives us the most firepower, it does make us vulnerable to ambushes. So maybe put some scouts out to sweep the area?"

"Are both teams ready?" An adult voice crackled over the radio.

"We are prepared," Celina's crisp tone replied.

"Affirmative. Oarai is ready," Miho confirmed.

"**Match Start,**" the announcer declared decisively.

Miho pressed the comlink around her neck.

"Panzer vor!"

The thunderous rumble of tank engines filled the air once more, as Oarai moved out, belching fumes from their exhausts. Due to the open nature of the battlefield, the team was heading straight for their opponents, hoping for a confrontation in the traditional style. Oarai's front line consisted of Anglerfish, Hippo, Turtle and Leopon teams, whilst behind them in a slightly staggered line were Rabbit, Anteater, Mallard and Duck teams. With their heaviest armour and guns to the front, it was clear that Oarai knew what superiority they had over their opponents, and that they would try to use it. However, Miho was certain that the opposition would not stand and fight, and was well prepared for a more sporadic and open fight. Bonple and Waffle had been doing tankery for a long time after all, and even though they were almost never successful, it did not mean they were foolish.

"All teams, for the purposes of this match, I would like Azusa to take overall command," Miho messaged everyone.

Surprisingly, there were no raised objections, which Azusa had been bracing herself for.

"Roger that!" Duck team replied, swiftly followed by their teammates.

Azusa smiled as her team affirmed their support for her, complying with Miho's orders. She stood up in the turret of the blocky M3.

"We'll continue as we were for the time being. Panzer Vor!"

Seeing that she had neither scouts in the van nor on the flanks, Azusa had the Anglerfish and Anteater teams play these roles, positioning them to the front-right and front-left of the team respectively, several hundred metres out from the main Oarai formation. The two tanks, both capable of decent pace and with good firepower, swept the landscape for threats against the main unit, keeping their eyes peeled for enemy activity. Hana's eye was glued to her gun sight as her turret tracked across the landscape, adding her keen vision to the hunt for Bonple and Waffle. Duck team were deployed to the rear as a lookout, meant to scamper back to the line if any threats came from behind. Oarai's remaining tanks now formed something akin to a pentagon, the two turretless vehicles at the front, Leopon and Mallard to the sides and behind them, and Rabbit team at the centre-back of the formation.

Oarai's AFVs ate up the distance towards their opponents at a steady pace, rolling across the undulating ground with ease. The ground was firm and rolling, but not steep, allowing the tanks to simply cruise across the field. Even though the team was cruising, this did not mean they were not vigilant. The rear rank of the formation had their weapons pointed behind them and to the sides, sweeping the landscape for signs of the enemy. All of the commanders stared through their vision blocks, keeping Yuuki, and thus Azusa, updated on any activity, although barring a few flickers, there was no solid contact. Observing the formation from a way off, Miho smiled. Oarai had come a long way since the team that had de-camouflaged their tanks before fighting St Gloriana.

Fifteen minutes had elapsed since the start of the match, and there had thus been no contact with the enemy. Oarai was soon to arrive in view of their opponents' starting positions, but it seemed highly unlikely that their enemy was just politely waiting there for them. Miho began to reach for her throat mic, but was interrupted by the report of gunfire. The enemy had moved.

Gazing to her left, where the sound had come from, Miho spotted the distinctive twin-turret arrangement of a Polish 7TP, the dual machine guns rattling out a challenge to Oarai's tanks. Concealed slightly behind the crest of a rise in the ground, the 7TP unleashed a fusillade into the flank of the Panzer IV. Oarai's tanks came to a halt, while Miho observed and reported in their challenger, careful not to stick her head out of the turret lest she catch a stray round.

"Team, Anglerfish team will engage the 7TP, be prepared for any further enemy activity in this area. It will probably run away when Anglerfish get into range, so be cautious in any pursuit you do, because it could be an ambush," Azusa broadcast.

Oarai's formation spread out and took up defensive stances, now on alert for any further attacks. The staccato rattle of the 7TP died away as the Mark IV approached, as the Bonple crew turned their tank away from the enemy advance with great haste, fleeing in the face of approaching enemy armour.

"Hana, commence firing on the 7TP. All teams, their tanks are for the most part fairly small. If it's not a clear shot, I don't think you should take it, so we can conserve ammunition," Miho advised her teammates.

A thunderous roar indicated to Miho that Hana had finished targeting the 7TP and fired. The shell flashed past the left flank of the Polish tank, burying itself in the dirt to create a small crater. The clatter of the receiver for the 75mm betrayed Yukari reloading the cannon once more, in a much practiced routine. None of the initial volley of shots from Hana found their mark however, as the rolling motion of the tanks drastically reduced their accuracy when trading shots.

Over the din of the crossfire, another report added to the symphony of battle, this time another tank gun. Rolling out from some dead ground on the rear-right of Oarai's formation was one of the Waffle team AMC 35s, its 47mm gun pointed firmly at Duck team, who wisely began moving to the main Oarai formation to shelter behind thicker armour. The Belgian tank's 47mm gun was more than capable of cracking open the Type 89's armour and so Noriko ordered her tank to begin weaving, whilst the Rabbit team pivoted to get their 76mm gun into position to return fire.

"Commander, we're being targeted! Enemy to the rear!" Noriko hurriedly reported to Azusa.

"Draw them back to the main formation as you retreat. If we can get some clean shots on them, they'll be out in no time."

As desultory fire continued to be exchanged between the two teams, Celina, sat in her command vehicle, thought through the situation. It seemed Oarai was maintaining superb discipline within their team, something which prevented Bonple and Waffle exploiting the better manoeuvrability of their smaller vehicles to draw Oarai's team off piecemeal, but Oarai were sacrificing mobility and striking power to retain that cohesion. It seemed that the chances of successfully beating Oarai were damnably low, as the tactical situation became more evident, but these two schools would be damned before they went down without a fight. If they could take to the field against King Tigers in their pre-war tanks they sure as hell wouldn't flee from a mishmash of lighter vehicles.

"Break contact. We're going to have to offer this particular horse a juicier apple," she ordered.

"What do we do then?" Sabine asked.

"Well, it depends on how much you like being bait."

Back on the field, Miho's pursuit of the 7TP had tapered off as they hit the border of one of the few stands of trees in the area. The 7TP sped off into the woods whilst Anglerfish team drew back to their own forces, wary of being trapped in the dense foliage by superior enemy forces. Instead, the girls rallied their tanks on a high point under Azusa's orders, hoping to gain a field of vision over the undulating terrain.

"That was the first time I've seen a 7TP operated so close! It was so cool!" Yukari exclaimed, following it with a definitely fangirlish squeal.

Miho, now clear of any rapid-fire health hazards, popped the turret hatch open and retrieved her binoculars from within the tank. Following her example, her fellow tank commanders began to survey the surrounding terrain, keen to spot any sign of their opponents. As open as the terrain was, the many folds in the ground helped conceal the great steel hulls of the war machines, friend and foe alike. Azusa was at a loss for ideas barring continuing the sweep. She didn't want to ask Miho for advice because then she would just be relying on her commander rather than getting any experience. Her thoughts were interrupted by Noriko's voice on the radio net

"Commander! We've spotted the enemy flag tank! Due North-North-East."

"Are you sure it's their flag tank?"

"Definitely. We'd know a Sherman silhouette anywhere," the Duck team captain confirmed, remembering her close call with Alisa and her flag tank.

Miho swivelled round in her turret, pointing her binoculars in the direction the Ducks had indicated, and sure enough, sat on a high point, was their flag tank, as bold as brass. Saori had just finished relaying the communications to her colleagues, resisting the habit to turn to Miho for further instructions when Mako spoke.

"They must think us fairly slow if they reckon this trap would work," she commented.

"That depends on our commander," Hana replied.

Seeing the Sherman herself, Azusa decided to take the obvious bait. No team would wilfully expose their flag tank to combat without a plan in mind.

"All teams, we're taking this bait. Advance, the same pattern we were using before."

**(On the ridge)**

"I must say, I'm quite impressed by the ability of Bonple and Waffle to evade their opponents," Simon stated, "It's like a chevauchee in the Hundred Years War. They evade actual combat with the superior foe, and hope to probe their weaknesses."

"Sun Tzu did say in the Art of War, if the enemy is in superior strength, evade him," Liam replied.

"I think their greatest strength is that they are easily underestimated," Katherine added, "Since they rarely reach past the early stages of the tourney they may be mistaken for weak, but their experience is just as great as that of the bigger teams. Bonple and Waffle know their tanks and have good strategies, it's just that their lack of resources make such hard to implement."

"It is often the cornered foe that fights hardest," Liam replied.

Whilst the Wellesley students were intrigued and entertained by the happening on the field, it seemed that this match was only entertaining the most hardcore of fans, as some of the spectators appeared downright bored by Bonple/Waffle's evasive tactics. Hart even spotted one leaving and sighed.

**(Back in the battle)**

Having outlined her plan of engagement, Azusa led Oarai back into the fray, setting their tanks back into motion across the field. Leopon had taken the short break that their observation had provided to fix a fault in the left drive sprocket, which on the Tiger was at the back, another of the Porsche prototype's quirks.

"This battle is shaping up to be like one of Caractacus's campaigns," Caesar said from her position in the StuG, "No actual fighting, and lots of pursuit."

Erwin spared her a glance to the side, spotting her clearly unimpressed look.

"As evasive as Lettow-Vorbeck and his askaris?" she proposed.

"As untraceable as the shinobi," both Saemonza and Oryou agreed.

Similar sentiments as to their opponents' reticence to engage were being shared in the other vehicles of Oarai's force.

"If I wanted to play hide and seek I would have stayed at school!" Aya complained, desperately seeking a target for the M3's turret.

Sadly for the Oarai girls, no amount of complaining could force their opponents to reveal themselves, but glimpses of turrets in the distance told the Oarai team all they needed to know. The opposition was shadowing them.

As Oarai closed in on the position the enemy flag tank had been occupying, it became painfully obvious that the Sherman had abandoned its former station. However, as they reached the foot of the slope leading up to the ridge, a grumble of engines from the opposite side of the hill betrayed the enemy's presence. Roaring over the crest of the ridge were the two TKS tankettes and the T-15 Vickers, machine guns blazing as they headed straight for the gaps in Oarai's line.

"Somebody's been watching our matches," Mako commented sardonically, remembering Miho's order to mix in with Saunders' tanks.

The arrival of enemy tanks into Oarai's formation was certainly a cause for concern. The incessant machine gun fire bouncing off the hulls of the school's tanks made it dangerous for the commanders to stick their heads out of the cupolas of their mounts, limiting their view. Also, the preponderance of long-barrelled weapons in Oarai's team made it difficult for them to target the enemy, due to their close proximity, making friendly fire a real threat. The one saving grace, Miho thought, watching Bonple's manoeuvre from her position on the flank, was that the enemy was equally at risk of friendly fire, as their own tanks were weaving between those of Oarai as they steadily ascended the slope.

Several loud gun reports from their right flank put paid to the idea that the enemy would hold their fire however. Rolling back into play to threaten Oarai's right was the AMC 35, supported by its two brethren, unleashing a volley of fire from their guns. The Porsche and the Chi-nu, occupying the rightmost positions in Oarai's formation, the latter retreating back to the main group, responded in kind, their powerful guns ploughing divots into the ground near the Renaults. Deciding to ignore the threat from the enemy's tankettes for the time being, Azusa decided to form up her forces now that their opponents had played their hand.

"Form up on the ridge and turn to face outwards from our formation's centre. That should cover our weaker points and give us the vision advantage over our opponents."

Oarai continued to ascend the hill, and no sooner had the Panzer IV reached the main force on the crest of the ridge, the tell-tale flash of a tank's muzzle heralded the smack of a round into the tank's front plate, only to bounce harmlessly off. This time it was the Bofors gun from the single turret 7TP, flanked by its counterpart, which unleashed a hail of machine gun munitions at the Panzer. Anglerfish returned fire, as did Turtle team adjacent to them, silencing the twin turret 7TP after a couple of volleys, finally claiming the first kill of the match for Oarai.

Now that it had become clear that their gambit had failed, the tankettes, who to this point had been running amok amongst Oarai's lines, shooting much but accomplishing nothing, decided to retreat, falling back away from their opponents. The danger of this withdrawal from close contact was well illustrated however, as the T-15 was picked off, neat as you please, by Mallard team, Sodoko looking supremely happy with her marksmanship.

With two tanks down and Oarai's position on the high ground established, the Renaults and the 7TP looked set to follow suit as well and flee, but this time Oarai would not be denied.

"Commander, can we pursue the enemy?" Noriko requested.

"Yes. We'll follow the Renaults, since they have the most firepower of all the tanks we're fighting currently. If we can take them down this match becomes almost a foregone conclusion."

"Got it!"

"Understood," Sodoko responded.

As the Renaults pivoted on their axis and fled, so Oarai gave their pursuit. Once again, the motion of the vehicles severely impinged upon their accuracy due to the lack of gyro stabilisers, meaning that the two teams could not effectively target one another. Nor could Oarai easily close the gap on their opponents, as their more nimble vehicles were held back by the more lumbering vehicles such as the B1.

"Mallard team, Anteater team, Leopon team, maintain your course behind us. The other teams are going to pursue and hopefully catch these three enemy tanks. You follow as fast as you can. Duck and Rabbit team are going to cover the Turtles while Anglerfish and Hippo engage," Azusa ordered.

Shifting their formation, the lighter tanks of Oarai's line raced ahead, keen to catch the AMCs fleeing before them. Shots flew back and forth between the two parties, with some fire from the Waffle crews ricocheting from the front plates of their opponents' armour. However, as the exchange continued, Oarai's marksmanship found its range, with Hana crippling one of the Renaults with precise fire that left the little tank a smoking heap, its surrender flag clearly in view. The crew popped the hatches for some fresh air as Oarai's tanks thundered past, laying down a barrage as they went. As the distance between Oarai's first and second groups grew, even the lumbering bulk of the Tiger was lost to Miho's sight.

"Was it wise to split our forces?" Momo asked over the radio.

"I thought if we left our heavier vehicles in a party to catch up with us when we engage, we can chase down the enemy easier, and then when our reinforcements arrive, we can beat them easier," Azusa replied, "We still aren't short on firepower here."

"I see."

"While we suffer the concomitant loss of firepower that splitting our force brings, we still have more than enough firepower between the five of our tanks, as do the others," Caesar summarised.

"Indeed, Miss Caesar, it is the epitome of divide and conquer!" Yukari shouted.

The intrepid team forged ahead, pursuing their enemy with great determination. As the chase kept going, without result for the Oarai markswomen, who by this point were conserving ammunition and firing sparingly, the AMCs began to follow a dirt track, kicking up dust in their wakes. As they kept rolling, a shot from the Ducks clipped the leftmost Renault's turret, spinning the turret. From the jittery movements the crews could perceive following the hit, it seemed as if the Ducks had knocked out the turret traverse, preventing their foes from returning fire.

"It's our five original tanks once again," Hana noted.

"Except we have a Hetzer rather than a 38t and we're far better equipped," Mako pointed out

Back with the other teams, they continued to follow their compatriots doggedly, Yuuki's radioed instructions keeping them on course, although it was obvious the Rabbit team communicator was struggling with her newfound responsibilities in the command tank. However, to spice up their relatively peaceful drive, the two TKS tankettes form before had returned, weaving between the three lumbering tanks. Their 20mm autocannons maintained a consistent barrage on the three tanks, whilst their manoeuvring began to impede the progress of Leopon and their compatriots. Eventually, Sodoko, growing slowly tired of this irritation, had Gomoyo man the hull-mounted 75mm gun.

"Wait for them to try and weave in front of us again, Gomoyo, and then hit them," she instructed, as Pazomi slid a round into the receiver.

"Understood."

"Wait for it, wait for it, now!" Sodoko shouted.

The hull mount roared into life, striking the TKS just as it passed Mallard team to try and strafe the Anteater girls. The little tankette ground straight to a halt, smouldering from the direct hit, before the little white flag popped from the turret. The other TKS, now wary of suffering it's comrades fate, was more circumspect with engaging the three Oarai tanks, and defiantly fired a few more volleys at the Porsche Tiger before fleeing once more, evading a barrage of fire from Mallard, Anteater and Leopon teams until it was out of effective range, before continuing to shadow the Oarai tanks once more.

The three tanks continued rolling on their way, Sodoko reporting the situation to Azusa as they continued. Azusa pondered this, thinking over why the enemy's tankettes would skirmish with their other force. However, as she did so, a muttered 'shit' from the Tiger ghosted over the radio.

"Nakajima, is there something the matter?" Yuuki asked the Leopon commander.

"Yeah. That tankettes glanced a couple of shots off the left sprocket, the one we fixed earlier, and now it's malfunctioning again. Is it possible for us to halt so we can have a look at it again? Otherwise we might suffer a breakdown as we roll."

"I understand. Leopon team, you can stop and make repairs on your tank. Anteater and Mallard teams, cover the Tiger until its running again," Azusa ordered.

"Got it."

The two smaller tanks drew protectively in around the Tiger, watching the terrain for the enemy. Sodoko spotted the TKS, sat just outside of range, undoubtedly reporting the status of the Tiger to Celina and Sabine, whilst Suzuki, Tsuchiya, Hoshino and Nakajima bailed out of the stricken Tiger to begin repairs.

"I always hate taking drive system damage when we're online," Nekota said to her crewmates.

"It always happens a disproportionate amount compared to any other damage, which just irritates the player," Piyotan agreed.

"I mean, the only thing worse is when people somehow hit the engine with shots from the front," Momoga added, her gaze focused on the vision block in front of her.

"Agreed," the other two said simultaneously.

Oarai's pursuit group maintained their course, set on forcing a conclusion to this match in the near future. As their quarry fled before them to the extremities of the battlefield, Miho spotted where the Renaults were leading them. A fork in the road, with one of the paths obscured by the terrain, and a small stand of trees occupied the terrain immediately ahead. The AMCs headed down the more open path, beckoning the Oarai tanks to follow.

"Be careful with that blind corner," Miho cautioned her teammates, "There could be enemy tanks concealed round there, much as with the copse of trees."

"I understand," Azusa acknowledged, "Advance with caution and cover Turtle team as much as possible."

Closing up slightly around the diminutive Hetzer, the girls pressed forward. As Miho predicted, as soon as they took the exposed fork in the road, they were fired upon from the left, more concealed path, and the copse that covered it. Finally choosing to engage personally, the tanks of both Sabine and Celina grumbled towards them, flanked by the 7TP that Oarai had engaged earlier. Sat in up in her turret, and wearing a frown that marred her features, Celina ordered her remaining forces into the assault. The AMCs rallied round to beset Oarai from the other side, effectively confronting them with a fight on two sides.

"Make sure you face the enemy you take on," Azusa commanded, "Anglerfish and Duck team, take on the two AMCs to our rear. Rabbit and Hippo will cover the Hetzer whilst we take out the opposition flag tank."

"This feels like the siege of Alesia," Caesar commented, "We the besiegers, are beset both by the besieged and their relief force."

"For once your example has us on the winning side," Oryou remarked dryly.

Oarai's tanks pivoted quickly on the spot to take up practically back-to-back positions, with the little Hetzer protectively sheltered by its comrades' larger hulls. Seeking targets, the tank gunners swung their heavy weapons into position, while their crewmates slammed home rounds into the breech. Powerful volleys rolled back and forth between the two teams.

In the Panzer IV, Hana laid the gun at the fully functional AMC, whilst Yukari dutifully placed a round into the gun receiver. A second later, Hana depressed the trigger, unleashing several pounds of 75mm AP lethality at the little Renault in front of their tank. Designed to take on far tougher chunks of steel than the little AMC, the 75mm round ploughed through the front plate of the tank like it was paper, immediately eliciting its surrender. The graceful girl gunner took a split second to celebrate another precision kill before retargeting her next foe, the stricken sibling of her last kill.

A far more ferocious firefight was developing on the other side of the Oarai formation. Both the 7TP and 10TP were flinging rounds into the densely packed Oarai tanks, the close proximity of the girls' tanks making aiming far easier on the gunners. However, much as with the earlier conflicts, Bonple and Waffle simply did not possess the requisite punch to their guns to inflict serious damage to their opponents. Several rounds simply bounced off the unyielding steel of the StuG, or slid off the sloped front plate of the Hetzer, or collided with the Rabbits' M3 with a resounding clang.

Fortunately for the smaller schools, they still had one weapon with sufficient firepower to dent even Oarai's tanks. Their M4, its sloped armour already bearing the signs of a couple of impacts, levelled its howitzer at the cluster of the enemy tanks.

"They're so close together we can't miss!" Sabine giggled, "Aim for the Hetzer, but don't worry if you hit one of the other tanks. Just hit 'em, and hard!"

Her dutiful team did just that, hammering the high-calibre round straight into the Hippo team, shaking the crew with its concussive force. Luckily for the reki-jo, the first round did not penetrate the tank's armour, although it shredded the right track and left the tankers a little shaken. Unfortunately for the StuG, the Sherman did not waste its second round, and punched it straight home, leaving the German tank destroyer out of the race.

"Rome is fallen," Caesar murmured.

The Hetzer, aiming between the gap in the wall the StuG and Chi-Nu had created in front of them, returned fire at their erstwhile adversaries. Grinning fiercely, Anzu aimed for the 10TP, placing her gun sights squarely on the Polish tank. Celina, staring at the battle through her sights, spotted the familiar drainpipe-like weapon of the Hetzer between the Lee and the StuG.

"Shit."

The familiar thunderclap of the high-velocity gun rang out, spitting several pounds of metallic pain at the Polish team leader. Smacking into the front glacis plate with a rending shriek, Celina sighed as the ubiquitous flag popped from the top hatch.

At the same time, the last AMC was turned into a wreck by the Ducks, who put the new Czech gun of their faithful mount to use, powering a 37mm round through the armour of the Belgian light tank.

"That serve was far more powerful than the old gun," Sasaki said.

"Better thank the automotive club," Noriko replied.

This left three tanks for Bonple and Waffle, of which one was too far away to offer any support. Grinding round on the spot and moving to support their colleagues, Duck and Anglerfish teams lent their firepower to the fusillade of firepower being unleashed at the Bonple and Waffle pair.

"Take the Sherman and we win," Miho reminded everyone.

With that, a cavalcade of firepower blazed out from the Oarai line, blitzing the area around the M4. While the M4 fired back, its slow reload time on its howitzer made return fire essentially academic by this point. Similarly, the 7TP could offer no response to the Oarai barrage. Several rounds struck the M4 almost simultaneously, the last ones offered by the M3's dual guns as a final injury.

"We did it!" Yuuki cheered, as a thoroughly worn out Karina reclined in her seat.

"I don't see what's so difficult about this command business," Aya said jokingly.

Any further discussion in the M3 was drowned out by the loud sound of the announcers.

"**Match finished. Oarai Girls High School takes the match."**

**Chapter end.**

**There you are! My latest offering to the fanfic altar. This chapter was the most difficult to write thus far, as I tried to make the match interesting, without actually making Bonple and Waffle the greatest strategists in the series. I wanted to put in competition without too much challenge to Oarai, and I hope I have achieved this.**

**Anyway, I'm back at uni now, so expect slower updates to be forthcoming. Also, big shoutouts to LW Kilroy, my youtube buddy, who has drawn some epic artwork for GUP, and entertained me with epic AMVs.**

'**Til next time!**


	11. Chapter 11: British Manners

**Big note: The last chapter has been edited to improve it. Kindly take this into consideration.**

**Hey guys! I noted that I was back at university last chapter, and with the amount of work I have to do, I have little time to write stuff. In fact, I just finished my mid-term exams. Also, my spare time is split between sword training, chilling out and playing Hearts of Iron (which is pretty cool). FEAR NOT! I'm still going to keep working (probably with the British Grenadiers on loop). Expect more from this work.**

**Also, due to workload, my mates at home have not been able to read this chapter, so I'd like to give a big thanks to Theralion for giving me some input prior to me uploading this.**

**Monday, 27****th**** January – Shiranuka, Hokkaido - 1420hrs**

As the victory graphic with the Oarai logo flashed up on the screen, Hart turned to his cadets.

"Did everyone enjoy the match?" he asked, receiving several nods and mutters of agreement from his students.

"Good! Now that the match is over, I want you to dissect the match for me. It'll be good practice for you to work on strategy."

"Essentially the match followed the principles of early middle ages warfare," Simon said. As the one who liked that era the most in their class, he was most qualified to comment. "One force offered battle, which their opponent declined, choosing to shadow and harass the attacking force. Despite this, Oarai's forces were simply better equipped, allowing them to get the better of the engagements they undertook, eventually forcing a final confrontation lest the battle drag on for the rest of the day."

"A good start," Hart said, "What about Bonple and Waffle? Notice anything about them?"

"Their cooperation was good," Katherine responded, "It seems they had a clear chain of command, and their styles complemented each other. Given that they are both underequipped schools with few up to date tanks, it is perhaps unsurprising. The small tanks that they possess suit hit and run and ambush tactics better than most vehicles."

"And Oarai's performance?"

This time Pearce decided to weigh in.

"Shoddy. For a team that won against better-equipped teams last term, they didn't show the essence of it this time. Perhaps they aren't used to being the more powerful force in their battles or were underestimating their opponent out of conceit, but they handled themselves in an average manner at best."

"Would you care to elaborate?" Hart asked, interested in Pearce's justification for this.

"Certainly. Whilst they offered battle actively, once they knew the enemy was not going to acquiesce they should have changed strategy. Perhaps form two groups, which would at once entice the enemy to attack them and provide more manoeuvrable power to search for Bonple and Waffle."

"If they hadn't been carrying peashooters in a gun fight, Bonple and Waffle would have been able to maul some of Oarai's tanks," Anna added, before trailing off into technical ideas, "They really could have added some heftier 47mm's to those AMCs, and…."

"I see your points," Hart acknowledged, "Oarai showed a relatively average performance. However, I have to say there were some things that struck me about their actions. Firstly, while they didn't deploy separate elements, they did deploy at least a net of scouts to give them warning and detection, despite their vulnerability. Most interestingly though was the positioning of the Panzer IV. If I recall, the Panzer is their command tank, correct?"

His cadets nodded.

"Then it could be questioned as to why it was deployed to the flank," he concluded. "Command elements are often positioned with the main body of a force so they can't be easily destroyed. Yet Oarai's ostensible command tank was one of their reconnaissance elements."

"Are you suggesting that they may have delegated command?" Liam asked.

"Perhaps," Hart confirmed, "It seems logical, unless Oarai's commander was doing something very strange. The central element was the M3, so perhaps that tank was in command, although I couldn't fathom why."

"Regardless, this suggests Oarai's strength is perhaps greater than they displayed here, despite their victory," Katherine interjected.

"Quite."

Hart turned to his cadets, who were sat on the ridge beside him in fold-out chairs that they had crammed in their transport. Anna, Simon and Katherine were sat normally on their chairs, while Liam was reclined lazily, slouched with a book in his hand. Pearce was sat forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his legs and his hands resting underneath his chin, curled together.

"Should we get going then, or does anyone require anything?" he asked his charges.

"I would like to have a closer look at some of Oarai's tanks, if that isn't a problem," Anna said, "The Porsche Tiger in particular has a lot of interesting features in its design."

"Not only that," Katherine added, "But we can scout them out as competition if we go and see them while they recover their tanks."

"Indeed, we can gauge the mettle of our foes," Simon agreed.

"So then, is everyone ok with going into town to see if we can meet the girls from Oarai?" Hart queried, directing his question primarily at the two cadets who had yet to speak.

Pearce merely nodded, thinking about what would occur meeting Erwin's friends, especially after his less-than polite exchange with the blonde-haired history lover.

"Sure," Liam shrugged.

"Then its settled," Hart said, "Pack your seats and we'll head into town."

**Shiranuka – 1440hrs**

Minus the wreck of the StuG, which was being recovered along with the destroyed tanks of Bonple and Waffle, Oarai's tanks assembled on the docks as per usual. The crews busied themselves with any tasks they were required to do, while some just bailed out of their tanks to let the dock crews begin loading them back up. Anteater team had immediately gone into the turret bin of their Chi-Nu and retrieved some handheld consoles, and were now leant against their trusty steed playing video games. Leopon team were already looking over their vehicle with critical eyes, gauging what they needed to fix on their temperamental steed.

"There's definitely something not quite right with the left generator," Tsuchiya noted to her teammates, "There's power fluctuations in the drive which is giving it a little bit of forced steer, and I have to correct it constantly."

"That's what, the third time this month that one of the generators has messed up?" Tsuchiya asked.

"Yeah, pretty much."

Of the other Oarai teams, it appeared that Mallard team were reading a copy of the school rules, attempting to find some infraction for which to berate their classmates, Gomoyo and Pazomi reading over the shoulder of their almost identical leader. The volleyballing Duck team had bailed out of their tank as well, and were doing cool-downs on the dockside. The Hetzer had all of its hatches opened, with Turtle team in various states of relaxation, from Momo, who was sat on the edge of the hull, to Anzu, who had somehow pulled a deckchair out of nowhere and was reclining on the tank destroyer's roof. Yusu was laid down reading a book next to the Council President, who had a sun-visor covering her face while she relaxed.

Having popped open the hatch on the Panzer's turret, Miho took this sight in as a welcome view. It was pleasant to be able to fully enjoy Tankery with her friends. The one dampener on her mood came from the sight of the blocky M3 Lee. Radio contact had been limited at best, and the tank's hatches remained firmly shut. Miho guessed it could be that Azusa was worried that she hadn't impressed her enough, or that she'd failed in some manner. She clambered out of the Panzer's top hatch, leaving her team to their own affairs. These primarily consisted of Saori texting, Mako sleeping, and Hana and Yukari trying to haul the aforementioned Mako out of the tank so it could be loaded back onto the carrier.

Miho paced across to the Lee of Rabbit team before clambering onto the tank's hull and stopping next to the turret. She could vaguely hear the team talking inside the vehicle and could make out that most of the remarks were directed towards Azusa, while the latter remained quiet. Knocking on the turret hatch several times, Miho waited for a response. She received one in a sheepish-looking Azusa, followed by the rest of the tank crew popping out of the other hatches.

"Uh, yes Commander Nishizumi?" she asked nervously.

"I came to check on you and see if you were ok," Miho answered, "There's nothing wrong is there?"

Rabbit team's captain shook her head vigorously, but the lack of verbal response told Miho all she needed to know.

"Are you worried about how you did in your first match?"

"A little…."

Miho gave her a comforting smile, and perched on the side of the turret next to Azusa.

"Just remember, in my first match we lost to St Gloriana, and our organisation was terrible. You on the other hand led us to victory over our opposition for the loss of only a single vehicle. I would call that a good display in my book."

"But in your first match our team was terrible and Momo made the plan," Azusa protested, "There were eight of our tanks in this match and our team is far better now than it was then. Even with those advantages, I got us ambushed."

"But you didn't panic," Miho said, "If you remember, in the finals, I got us baited into a trap containing a Maus tank. What's important, even if you did make mistakes, is to learn from them."

Somewhat mollified, Azusa gave Miho a weak smile back.

"I'll try."

"And we'll support you!" Karina declared, with rest of Rabbit team voicing their approval.

Azusa looked somewhat touched by her friends' show of support, and a tinge of colour rose to her cheeks.

"For what it's worth, I think you'll make a great commander," Miho added, causing Azusa to flush a little more.

Miho hopped off the M3 and walked back over to the Anglerfish, leaving the Rabbit team to giggle and talk amongst themselves.

"Did you hear what Commander Nishizumi said? Azusa, she reckons you're gonna be a great commander!" Aya said excitedly.

Miho grinned to herself as she moved out of earshot, while Rabbit team continued gossiping amongst themselves, in a seeming bid to make Azusa go even redder with embarrassment. She walked back over to Anglerfish team, who were sat talking on a nearby bench, overlooking the dock. Mako, who had been retrieved from the tank, was asleep on Yukari's shoulder, and didn't look to be waking any time soon. A grumbling sound from down the street indicated the arrival of one of the recovery vehicles, replete with wrecked Sturmgeschutz and crew on board. As the truck rumbled past, Hippo team hopped off and walked over to their commander.

"Commander," Caesar greeted Miho.

"Hello," Miho replied, "Are you guys alright?"

"We're fine, just irritated that we were the only casualties on our side," Saemonza said.

"We'll do better next time," Oryou added.

"I'm sure you will," Miho told them.

Hippo team grinned and walked off, with Caesar telling the other three members that it would be akin to her namesake's battle with the pirates, defeated at first but then returning triumphant. They passed the rest of their team, exchanging shouted greetings with the other tank crews.

Miho went back to lounging on the bench with her team, enjoying the ambient noise of the docks as their tanks were loaded back up. She began to daydream, and so was surprised when a voice greeted her from her left.

"Commander, I suppose I owe you congratulations," Celina said, striding towards the Oarai team leader, having emerged from an adjoining street a short while prior.

"Yeah, you did really well," Sabine added, hurrying to keep up with her taller ally, "But I must admit, you were a little more direct than I expected you to be."

"Thank you, but I'm not really responsible for our team's win," Miho answered, "That would be Azusa Sawa, the captain of Rabbit team. She took command in this match."

The Nishizumi girl pointed over at the M3 Lee, where Rabbit team were sat on the hull gossiping. As she did, Sabine and Celina stood there in a little bit of disbelief.

"You mean we were beaten by a team commanded by someone with no previous command experience?"

"This is the first year she's done tankery, and we thought it would be good experience for her, since she'll have to take over when we leave the school."

Sabine put on a look of deep thought.

"You know, it would explain some of the choices your team made in strategy. They seemed a little clumsy, if I may say, especially for a commander who had won last term's tournament in a string of victories against the biggest teams."

"I guess that just shows how dedicated your team is," Celina finished.

"All of our team tries their very best, and we believe in each other" Miho said, "It's one of the reasons we managed to get so far last time."

Sabine and Celina strolled across to the M3 and offered their congratulations to Azusa, along with a firm handshake, leaving the first year captain flushing red once more, much to the amusement of her team-mates. Even Saki had a hint of a smile at Azusa's discomfort. The Bonple and Waffle captains returned across the dock to Miho in order to offer their goodbyes.

"I must say, it was nice to actually meet your team in combat," Celina said, "We were unsure if last term's champions would meet our expectations."

"She's trying to be polite in saying that we thought you were lucky," Sabine offered, "Not to cause offence or anything, but you aren't exactly an imposing figure."

"None taken," Miho assured the brown-haired captain.

"To be fair, it is difficult to possess presence as a schoolgirl, particularly in comparison to the tank that you drive," Hana interjected from further down the bench.

"Still, we were pleasantly surprised," Celina remarked, "We will come and watch some of your other matches."

"Yeah, cos if your other matches were anything to go by, they're gonna be epic!" Sabine exclaimed.

Miho nodded politely to the two captains, who began to walk away from the dock, evidently towards their own loading area.

"See ya!" Sabine exclaimed when the pair were nearly out of sight, pairing the shout with a cheerful wave and a big grin.

Miho waved back until the two captains were out of sight, before reclining back next to her friends. All that chasing of enemy tanks had really worn her out, although being able to be the one listening to commands rather than issuing them had gone some way towards alleviating her fatigue. She relaxed as the dock workers got to grips with the last couple of tanks, namely the Lee and the Chi-Nu, and began loading them onto the carrier slowly. The sea breeze and the proximity of her friends made Miho start to drift off…

**Shiranuka – In town – 1440 hrs**

The refreshing breeze of the day whistled past the Wellesley observers as they trundled into town in their Kangaroo Carrier, Simon at the helm, whilst Hart perched next to him on the outer chassis, watching his driving. The rest of the team were packed into the back along with the seats they had brought with them, now folded and stowed. Their carrier was the Priest Kangaroo, based as it was on the chassis of a Priest SPG, converted for infantry transportation. The cumbersome APC clattered through the town, following the roads towards the dock.

As the group rolled through town, they passed a stricken vehicle at the side of the road, a bright pink jeep, with three girls examining the damage. Evidently one of the tyres had burst, and the smoke coming from the engine bay didn't look too good either. One, a petite orange-haired girl, was venting the smoke, whilst a blonde examined the tyre. A final girl, looking a lot more casual about the situation, stood to one side, watching her friends. All three were wearing the same blue uniform. Both Pearce and Hart raised an eyebrow when they spotted the emblem on both the jeep and the girls' uniforms, a tea pot and cup, accompanied by a flower.

"Sir, those ladies are from St Gloriana Womens' Academy," Pearce remarked.

"Quite," Hart said, "Simon, pull the Kangaroo over, we shall see if they need our assistance."

"Understood."

The bulky vehicle pulled over to one side, with the crew bailing out and walking over to the St Gloriana girls. One of the blonde girls, her hair neatly held up at the back, looked towards the approaching group, and stood up to greet them.

"Hello, can we help you?" she asked, in a neat and calm tone.

"We noticed that your transport seemed to be having some issues, and we wanted to offer our help if you should wish it," Hart replied.

"Thank you, sir, but might I enquire as to your name?"

The other blonde girl, who had long hair cascading down her back, and had to this point been watching proceedings, strolled over to her colleague.

"Surely you recognise that these students are from Wellesley Royal Military Academy, Darjeeling? I do recall telling you about them joining the tournament this year."

The now-identified Darjeeling coloured slightly at the implied reprimand. Hart decided to interject.

"We are from Wellesley. I am John Hart, the tankery instructor, at your service. These are some of my pupils, Anna Rowley, Simon Williams, Liam Andrews, Samuel Pearce and Katherine Armstrong. A pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," the blonde replied, "I am known as Earl Grey. My schoolmates are Darjeeling," she indicated the girl next to her, "and Orange Pekoe," she said, pointing at the petite girl fiddling with the jeep.

Pearce's eyebrow raised slightly at the names given by the girl from St Gloriana. Evidently the girls from St Gloriana were very proud of their monikers, as it served to demarcate their commitment to their school, but Pearce couldn't help but hope they were nicknames, not birth names, as no sane parent would ever label their child as a brand of tea. The cadet captain could only thank his luck that Chris was not around to make jokes about it.

"Is there anything we can do to help you on your way?" Simon asked.

"Perhaps if one of you could direct us to a mechanic's shop? It would be most appreciated," Earl Grey said.

"Of course," Hart answered, "I recall seeing one on our route through the town earlier. Does anybody else remember where it was?"

Two hands went up, Simon's and Pearce's.

"Sam, could you escort one of these ladies to the mechanic's shop we passed earlier?"

"Of course," the bespectacled student replied.

"Superb! Darjeeling here will accompany you," Earl Grey stated.

Leaving the group to look over the stricken jeep, and Hart and Earl Grey to talk to one another, Darjeeling and Pearce made their way onto the streets leading to the south-western district of the city. For the first few hundred yards, total silence was maintained between the two, before Darjeeling, seeking to be polite, tried to make conversation.

"I heard your teacher say before that you were his tankery cadets. Are you part of the team for this year then?"

"I am," the boy replied.

"What position on the team do you occupy then? I don't wish to pry, but I am curious as to how the academy from our spiritual homeland is organised," Darjeeling said, wishing to find out more about a truly British team.

"I am the team captain, Miss Darjeeling. I am also well aware that you are the team captain for St Gloriana Womens' Academy, as the reports for last term's tournament indicate. In case you were wondering about the vehicle I use, it is a Panzer VI Tiger tank, Ausf E."

Darjeeling barely batted an eyelash at his comment, choosing to retain her pleasant smile instead. Pearce was impressed by her collected demeanour.

"But why do you not use a British tank? Surely a military academy like Wellesley has a surplus of vehicles which you could use as a command tank."

"I personally prefer my command tank for a wide number of reasons, but rest assured, we have an admirable array of British tanks, and were we not competing in the same competition, I would invite you to come and see for yourself, but I fear that could give away too much."

"I understand. It would be unsporting of me to insist upon such," the blonde captain mused.

Pearce glanced sideways at the girl from St Gloriana. Whilst her flawlessly maintained mask of control would say otherwise, he could tell that she was a little bit disappointed. Perhaps she'd wanted to talk to a student who lived up to British ideals far better than he. He brushed aside the apology that he was tempted to give, and instead tried to change the conversation.

"Miss Darjeeling, I apologise if I'm over-inquisitive, but could you tell me more about your school?" he asked, watching as the Anglophile girl became more lively again, the glint of a keen intelligence and enthusiasm in her eye.

"Well, as a part of the government's initiative to introduce us to foreign culture in school, many of our schools have taken on foreign aspects and encouraged us to follow their ways of life. As you might be able to discern, we have been educated in a British manner, and some of us have taken on nicknames to further integrate ourselves with our chosen culture," she proudly expounded.

"Might I ask why you chose names of types of tea as your nicknames?" Pearce asked curiously.

"We were told that one of the distinguishing hallmarks of being British was a love for tea, as well as an unflappable demeanour, pristine manners and keen sense of chivalry. Am I right to assume that these are actual common traits amongst people of the UK?"

"They are indeed common amongst dedicated citizens of Her Majesty," Pearce replied earnestly, "I myself am particularly fond of tea."

Taking his eyes off Darjeeling, Pearce realised that they had reached the mechanic's shop. He held the door open courteously for her and waited outside for her to conclude her business with them. Mulling over his conversation with the blonde-haired captain, Pearce found himself cursing the stereotypes that were heavily entrenched into people's perceptions of the English, and at the same time wishing more people would follow them. As he had found on his walk with Darjeeling, her impeccable manners and command of language were indeed welcome, and in fact quite pleasant to be around. This was saying something considering that there were very few people that Pearce could tolerate spending an extended amount of time with. Whilst Pearce thought to himself, he failed to notice that Darjeeling had concluded her business and was patiently waiting for him. The girl gently coughed into her hand to get his attention.

"My apologies for interrupting you, but my business with the mechanics is concluded. They will be along to fix our vehicle shortly."

"That is indeed good news," Pearce replied, "Shall we return to our parties?"

"Indeed."

The pair began a steady stroll back towards their party, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere. Darjeeling decided to continue their pleasant conversation.

"Whilst I enquired before about your position on the team, I must admit I know little about your academy. Would you mind if I asked you to elaborate a little on what Wellesley is like?"

"It is a military school for those aged 16-21; we educate students in what we would call college and university level qualifications in Britain," the captain replied.

Darjeeling glanced over at Pearce, as his very appearance had confirmed that fact to her. Her uniform, with its blue skirt and jumper, black tie and white shirt, finished by a set of smart shoes, made her appear a British schoolgirl, whilst her counterpart's differed drastically. His attire somewhat resembled that of a British officer from the war. A grey shirt, coupled with a blue tie, could be seen peeking from the collar of his military shirt, which was a darker grey with blue trim. The long coat over the whole ensemble Darjeeling chalked up to personal taste, as none of his counterparts had worn one. Finally, the hefty boots on the cadet's feet completed the appearance of an officer in training.

"Since Wellesley is a military school, am I to assume you receive military instruction, unlike those students who are in civilian education?" she inquired.

"We learn a fairly broad syllabus, although we begin to specialise as we reach degree level. The syllabus also covers basic military training from fitness to weapons and strategy."

"So an education in both the arts of peace and war, correct?"

"Indeed. Those that complete the full course at the academy are expected to be well-rounded individuals and fit to command Her Majesty's soldiers both at home and in the field. This is reflected in our academy's motto, 'if you wish for peace, prepare for war'.

"From the latin, si vis pacem, para bellum?" Darjeeling asked, a glint of amusement in her eye.

"Correct. Quite impressive, Miss Darjeeling, not many would have known that," Pearce replied, his professional demeanour still mostly in place, although the polite conversation threatened to lower his guard. The complete air of innocent polity coming from the St Gloriana girl made him feel a little at ease, and he was struggling to remain entirely detached from the conversation.

"Your school is very intriguing. Tell me, since your academy crafts soldiers, what is its view of tankery?" Darjeeling asked.

"It is to win with both the greatest efficiency and the maximum efficacy."

"I would suppose that befits a military school. I would propose however, that tankery is different to actual battle. It's a sport, not a skirmish, and we can enjoy ourselves to the utmost," Darjeeling said, "Two opponents can honourably battle it out to try and best the other. Is that not a good idea?"

"I would disagree with it. Tankery is a combat exercise. It isn't war, but it uses its machines for a similar purpose. The only difference is lethality," Pearce concluded bluntly, "Those who fight with honour in such battles are often the ones who lose."

Darjeeling frowned. It wasn't much of a frown, more a slight downturn of her lips, but for a woman with such superb control of her emotions, it was a clear statement of displeasure.

"I see we are of different minds on the matter then. Regardless, should you face our academy I will be honoured to fight you."

"Likewise. However, since we are on opposite sides of the tournament bracket, I would assume that the chance of such is lowered. We have Saunders and several other teams standing before us, whilst you have Continuation and Viking standing in your way."

"I will be interested to see how you progress then," Darjeeling said.

The two turned the final corner back to their respective groups, where it appeared almost no progress had been made on fixing the damaged jeep. Liam was sat off to the side whilst his three compatriots tried to assist with the repair work alongside Orange Pekoe. Earl Grey was chatting to John, and it seemed the conversation was flowing well, but John looked distinctly uncomfortable, as he always did around women.

"Sir, we have returned as ordered," Pearce reported.

"Oh, good. What were the results of your expedition?" asked John, looking distinctly relieved at the distraction.

"The mechanics are on the way."

Hart glanced over at Simon, who was assisting Pekoe in fitting a new tyre. The fact that the petite ginger girl looked more at home fixing the vehicle than Simon did made an amusing scene, although Pekoe had yet to comment, instead politely guiding the larger boy in the repair work.

"Simon, how is fitting that tyre coming along?"

"It's going ok, sir," Simon replied, only to drop the wrench he was using on his foot, prompting a loud string of expletives which made his St Gloriana counterpart blush.

"Anna, how about the engine?" Hart enquired, glancing over to where Katherine and Anna were looking into the now lightly smoking engine bay.

"We've diagnosed what was wrong with it, but we don't have the tools to fix it, so they're stuck here till the mechanics show up," Anna reported, neglecting to mention that while she knew what was wrong with the engine, she had no idea how to fix it. That was an engineer's job, not a researcher's.

Hart turned to the eldest girl from St Gloriana.

"I'm sorry we couldn't be of more assistance," he apologised.

"Oh, do not worry yourself, you have been most splendid company while you were here, and you've gone some way towards getting our vehicle roadworthy again. For that we owe you our gratitude," Earl Grey replied.

"No, it was our pleasure," John said.

"Anyway, we have delayed you for long enough. We'll be fine from here, Captain Hart."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course."

"Ok then," John said, "Right cadets, let's move!"

His charges looked up at their instructor and began to troop back to the Kangaroo carrier. Simon said a quick farewell to Pekoe and stood up to move off. Pearce hesitated for a second, before turning to Darjeeling.

"Miss Darjeeling, it has been a pleasure. I must thank you for the pleasant conversation and company. Farewell."

The diminutive cadet turned on his heel and left, clambering up on to Wellesley's personnel carrier and disappearing into the interior. Hart nodded to Simon, who had taken up his position in the driver's seat, and the slow moving APC moved off, headed towards their original objective.

Earl Grey turned to look at her successor, whilst Pekoe was still feverishly working away at their transport.

"They were nice," she said, "Scrupulously polite, courteous, and excellent conversationalists, although Captain Hart seemed a little bit uncomfortable. What about the boy that accompanied you?"

"It seems he takes his career very seriously," Darjeeling said diplomatically.

"Is that not a good thing? He seemed very polite to me, what troubles you about him?"

"I fear we might have a similar case to Maho on our hands. Our school might emphasise being able to control one's emotions, but I think he might have tried to discard his, rather than control them."

"That is interesting," Earl Grey commented, "It seems like this will be an amusing term then."

**Shiranuka – Docks – 1510hrs**

The team from Wellesley arrived at the docks just as the last of the intact vehicles was being loaded back onto the ship. Leopon team had taken the StuG aside for repairs, and could be seen to the side of the loading area being restored to working order. Anna sighed when she realised she couldn't look over Oarai's tank lineup, spotting the clear absence of AFVs bar the ruined assault gun. A similar lack of students could also be detected, although a few of the Oarai team were still hanging around. Hippo team, insistent on waiting whilst their ride was fixed, were sat near the edge of the dock talking, whilst Anglerfish team were relaxing on the bench they had occupied half an hour prior, Mako, Yukari and Saori having fallen asleep by this point, with Hana and Miho too polite to wake them. Near to where Leopon team were fixing the Assault III, Anteater team were playing games on their handheld consoles.

It was to this scene that Wellesley arrived, the grumble of the engine unnoticed by most. One person however, did take note of the APC, the distinctive sound of the engine reaching Yukari's ears and stirring her from sleep. She bolted awake, looking around for the source of the noise.

"I'd know that sound anywhere! It's a kangaroo carrier!" she exclaimed.

The Wellesley team disembarked from their carrier, Hart staying behind this time. He wanted the cadets to do their own intelligence-gathering and fraternisation. Whilst helping the St Gloriana girls was acceptable, he felt it was a little strange for him to get involved in a talk between the two teams. The cadets split up as they dismounted, Anna and Liam heading over to where Leopon team were working and the others moving towards the girls they recognised from their intelligence meetings, Miho Nishizumi. Pearce had started to gravitate towards Hippo team, but decided not to for the time being. Katherine approached Anglerfish team, deciding to speak first for her classmates.

"Excuse me, are you Miss Miho Nishizumi?" she asked, walking over to the group of girls.

"Er, yes. Might I ask who you are?"

"I'm Katherine Armstrong, and I'm one of the tankery students at Wellesley Military Academy. These are my classmates, Simon Williams and Samuel Pearce. We were hoping to meet the team that won last term's tournament."

Yukari frowned at the last name, wondering where she'd heard it before.

"Most of our team isn't here at the moment," Miho said apologetically, "We finished reloading most of the tanks onto the carrier, so most of them have gone home, but some of us are still around while we finish up. This is my team," she said, gesturing to her friends next to her, of which Saori and Mako were still asleep, "Hana Isuzu, Mako Reizei, Saori Takebe and Yukari Akiyama."

"Our other teammates over there are Anna Rowley and Liam Andrews," Katherine added, pointing to her classmates, who were in conversation with Leopon team, of which all of them bar Nakajima were still repairing the StuG. She then pointed at the Kangaroo carrier, "Our instructor John is over there."

"Have you been doing tankery long?" Miho queried.

"Our academy has been doing tankery for those more senior than us for some time now. It was on our school's initiative that they brought tankery back recently. It seems that there was some interest expressed by previous and current younger students in extending it to all students."

"But why not join a league on your own continent?" Hana asked.

"After an unfortunate incident a few years ago between a visiting Japanese school and a German school the European Tankery League shut down its branch for 16-18 year olds, with the US swiftly following suit. Apparently some considered the match a demonstration of the dangers of the sport and its potential for violence. Our school and three like it have entered this competition as a trial group to see if the ban should be lifted," Simon interjected.

Hana nodded, her curiosity sated. Miho on the other hand, looked quite depressed at hearing Simon's explanation. She remembered the match to which he was referring, in which units under her sister's command had fired on opponents who were trying to rescue some of Maho's team members.

"I have a question about how you fought the match we just watched," Pearce stated.

Miho nodded at him to go ahead.

"Your command style seemed far less fluid than of any other matches I have watched prior. Did you underestimate your opponent, or as our teacher believes, delegate command to a subordinate?"

"The latter. We let Azusa, the commander of our M3 Lee take over from me so she could get experience of command."

"A sensible decision, but would it not have been better to do so in a practice match?"

"I had faith that she would do well," Miho declared, "Anyway, winning isn't everything. We want to win, but we can accept defeat."

Pearce declined to comment. Yukari on the other hand had a moment of inspiration, and remembered exactly what she knew about Pearce.

"Now I remember! You gave Miss Erwin her hat!" she exclaimed.

Pearce inwardly cursed as four sets of eyes swivelled towards the group from the far side of the dock. The four people he had deliberately not gone and talked to when they arrived. At least one of those pairs of eyes was looking at him in a hostile fashion too, with Saemonza looking eminently displeased at his presence. None of Hippo team made to move, as Erwin had not yet shifted from her position, but they continued to watch Pearce intently. The blonde-haired history lover looked at her acquaintance with an appraising eye.

Katherine, Miho, Hana and Simon continued their polite conversation, but Yukari watched the cadet captain closely. His impartial expression was still present, but his eyes had slipped down towards his shoes and his head was no longer held high. To Pearce, it felt like the years before he joined Wellesley, with people looking at him with hostile intent. Yukari looked straight into his eyes, discerning the dead look in them easily.

'That look…. It's like the one I wore before I met my friends…' she thought.

Noticing that the brown-haired tank enthusiast was watching him intently, Sam made a conscious effort to ignore the stares of Hippo team and stood straight again, returning to his clear, focused and disinterested look. He couldn't afford to show weakness in front of these people. Yukari watched Pearce drop a mask back over his feelings with a sense of sadness.

'It seems his outer character is something of an act, but I can't tell why he'd do that," she thought, 'Maybe I should ask Miss Erwin later.'

Pearce decided to break the silence between the two of them.

"Miss Nishizumi said you were one of her crew members."

"Yes, Yukari Akiyama. You're Pearce, right?"

"Correct. Might I ask what role you fulfil in the crew of your tank?" he said politely.

Yukari recognised the somewhat forced nature of Pearce's questions, but played along.

"I'm the loader in our crew," she replied, "I also know you're the team leader for your academy because we watched your friendly match with Kutusov."

"Oh really?" the bespectacled cadet responded, pushing his glasses up his nose, looking mildly curious for the first time in the conversation, "And what were your opinions on the match?"

"I thought your use of terrain was sensible, but potentially risky. Your team could have been surrounded. Also, leaving the M10 on its own just to get an opportunity to take their flag tank out was unnecessary. You could have pulled them back."

Pearce inwardly reflected on this. This was only one of several times his decision in that match had been questioned and by completely different people as well. He dismissed the thought.

"It was the simplest way to win," he countered, "There was no need to overcomplicate things."

"But what about your friends?" Yukari asked, "Do you care nothing for them?"

"I have colleagues, not friends. They know the risks of combat," Pearce said resolutely.

"That's terrible! Isn't the sign of a good commander that they protect their men?"

By this point, Yukari's voice had been steadily rising, and had garnered the attention of Hippo team once more, and they were now listening intently to the back and forth between the cadet and the tank enthusiast.

"No. A good commander wins the battle, striving to minimise casualties but accepting their inevitability."

"Tankery isn't war," Yukari protested, "You aren't fighting for your country here, so why fight as if you are? There's no basis for it."

"Tankery is a replacement for war, and must hence be taken just as seriously," Pearce continued, missing the movement of Hippo team towards the arguing pair, "Tankery may just be a sport for you, but have you ever considered what it does? It trains you for battle and gives you an understanding of tactics and teamwork. Tankery is merely the polite version of warfare nowadays, another way of proving prowess."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Both myself and my colleagues are members of a military academy, where we are taught to lead troops into battle, coordinate forces and guarantee the safety of our nation. By participating in tankery, we are displaying military skills that could quite easily be used in an actual battle. And there is no room for sentiment in an actual battle, something your commander would do well to heed."

"Hey! Don't talk about Miss Nishizumi like that!" Yukari shouted back indignantly, failing to realise that by this point, everyone in the immediate area was looking at them.

"I'm not disparaging her evidently good nature, I'm offering advice."

"Yeah, well it's not welcome," Saemonza interjected, "We won last year without thinking like you, so don't tell us how to fight."

Pearce turned towards the source of the interruption, but his eyes locked with Erwin's as he pivoted on the spot. Choosing not the respond to the other Hippo team member for the time being, Pearce asked one question of Erwin, in a voice far less confident that usual.

"Did you mean it?" he asked, the question coming out quiet.

Erwin looked dumbfounded for a second, before processing the question. When she finally responded, it was with a pained look on her face.

"I missed my friend. But you're not the same Sam I knew. You're dismissive, cold and harsh. I'm sorry, but I missed the old Sam Pearce."

The cadet froze on the spot. A number of emotions churned within him, but he dismissed them all quickly, lest the wave of sadness he felt overwhelm him, and any anger he had be snuffed out by melancholy. He looked back into the brown eyes of his former friend, trying to convey his feelings via eye contact alone. The look on Erwin's face gave away that she picked up on some of it, but Pearce was unprepared to discuss their personal issues in an open space.

"I see. Well then, I apologise if I have offended any of you. Good day," Pearce replied curtly, turning on his heel and heading for the carrier.

The Wellesley team gave hasty apologies, the mood now thoroughly ruined, and hurried off to their transport. The Oarai girls looked at each other as the APC moved off, saying nothing until Nakajima decided to break the tension.

"We finished fixing the StuG, so we can get back on the carrier now if you want."

"Definitely."

"Yep."

**Hertfordshire, England – 1510hrs, British Standard Time**

The noise of a radio grew steadily louder as the woman approached the door to the study, her smart shoes making a staccato beat on the hardwood flooring. She walked carefully, making sure to keep the tea cups that she had in both hands level, avoiding spilling them on her business-like suit. She opened the door to the room, where a man sat in a high-backed leather chair, reading a broadsheet newspaper. The man was short, dressed in a well-cut suit, severe in visage and greying at the temples. The woman had faint hints of grey in her auburn hair, which was done up in a bun at the back, and stood slightly taller than the man. She placed the cups of tea down on the large desk at which the man was seated, careful to put them on place mats, and seated herself in one of the comfortable chairs about the room. As she did so, the man switched off the radio and neatly placed his newspaper down on the desk.

"Well dear, I think I may have found a solution to our little problem," he said, sipping his tea carefully and directing a small smile at his wife.

"Intriguing," she replied, "I'm keen to know more about how you propose to do this."

"You remember what the school board told us last time?" he asked, eliciting a nod from the woman.

"We can only remove our child from the school either with the child's consent or if they fail a class in the school. I fail to see where this is going, James."

"Well, I was watching the sports news earlier, and it seems that there have been a number of military academies joining the Japanese Tankery League, as part of an experiment regarding the safety of the competition. I rang Professor Kazahana, you remember him right? The technology chair on the tankery board?"

"He was quite a nice man. A little too into his research, but I suppose his dedication was admirable. It's a pity our research partnership with him didn't last too long; we were so close to a breakthrough too."

Her husband nodded, taking a sip of his tea.

"Kazahana confirmed the news to me, and told me where I could watch them. So yesterday, I watched one of the matches on playback, and you'll never guess who's in the team."

"It's not…" the woman asked hesitantly, "It can't be Sam, can it?"

"Oh yes, Emma. Our son is competing."

"What do we do? It's bad enough he's at that school, but playing around in a tank, the thought is horrifying! James, please tell me you have a plan."

Almost by reflex, Mrs Pearce turned to look at a large cabinet set into the corner of the room. It had no fewer than seven pictures in it, some older, some more recent, each displaying a man or woman attired proudly in military uniform. A profusion of medals were displayed in cases underneath the pictures.

"Don't worry dear. I rang Professor Kazahana again, and he put me in contact with this lovely lady, who's apparently very well connected in the Tankery world, said she might be able to help. Apparently she knows a lot about rebellious children."

"What's her name?"

"Shiho Nishizumi."

**End of Chapter**

**Finished! Yay! You have no idea how much time I've had to cut and rearrange in my days just to get time to write this. **

I've had several guest reviews recently on various chapters, and I thought I'd answer them here. On the plus side, I'm getting more reviews! (Although more detailed ones would be appreciated) Usually, if you aren't a guest, and leave a well thought-out review, I like to answer them personally in PMs, because I like having helpful contributors.

Some guy 6374938: I'm well aware that the Anteater team play an online tank game. Since your review was on chapter 2 I'm guessing you haven't read much further, but I do make reference to it. I also thought I would expand on it and make their tank gaming more of a general gaming addiction, because that gives me more dialogue scope.

Dh253: The original specs for the Porsche are 100mm of front plate, but you are right. After conferring with my advisers (read some guys I know who really know their shit on tanks), it has been pointed out to me that many of my tanks have already been modded, so why not? I hope what I put into this chapter answers your request. (A/N: I don't do silly requests, only those that are sensible and fit with my story)

SumDumGuy: You told me that the M10 was the Wolverine, not the Achilles. While the original M10 in America was the Wolverine, M10 is the short designation for the Achilles. Kindly direct your attention to this spotlight on the Achilles (below).

**Tank Spotlight**

**The 17-pdr SP M10 Achilles Tank Destroyer (Designated by QF Ordnance Board)**

Throughout World War Two, American armour doctrine dictated the necessity of using fast, lightly-armoured vehicles with powerful anti-tank guns as a counter to enemy tanks, rather than, as almost every other nation did, armouring up their biggest guns. The net result of this yielded the M10 Wolverine in 1942. The first of a line of tank destroyers, the M10 was a fast, manoeuvrable tank with a 76mm gun, but low armour thickness. The Wolverine provided a kick to American armour forces, and operated alongside infantry support tanks like the Sherman to take out German AFVs in various theatres. It was first deployed to North Africa with American forces working in concert with British troops.

However, after encountering the German armour in the desert, particularly the infamous Tiger tank, British forces realised the inadequacy of allied firepower against such heavily armoured machines. To solve this, when the M10 became available to British forces, they began a conversion project, similar to the creation of the Sherman Firefly. The tank was refitted with a 17 pounder anti-tank gun and a counterweight on the back of the turret, enabling the tank to take on the heaviest of German armour at distance. Further modifications included a roof-kit to the otherwise open-topped M10, and slightly increased armour plating to the front of the vehicle. The resulting conversion was dubbed the 17pounder Self-Propelled M10 'Achilles', although the designation of Achilles became fixed more to the tank after the war.

Number built – 1100

Crew: 5

Armour: up to 57mm thick (sloped)

Weight: 29.6 tonnes

Armament: QF Ordnance 17 pounder (76.2mm)

Wellesley Royal Military Academy possesses at least one of these fearsome machines, and the one used by its Tankery team is crewed by a team under Christopher Taylor.

**AMV of the chapter – Girls und Panzer – Light My Fire AMV by CrazyKarlosonStudio – **Quite simply a really well edited piece with lots of tanks and some nicely selected music too.

**Second Shout-out – **My correspondent, Mr L.W. Kilroy, who has been known to make a youtube video or too on his channel of the same name, has opened a deviantart account. Go and give and them some love please!

**That's all from me this time round. Expect more at some point (I have no idea when, maybe 3 or so weeks). See ya!**


	12. Chapter 12: Leading From the Front

**Hey guys! I've just gone through what can only be described as a busy first term. So yeah, I've not written much recently. I'm trying to get two chapters finished at once, as they will run simultaneously, so expect the followup to this pretty soon.**

**THIS IS A NOTE ABOUT THE NEXT FEW CHAPTERS: I know it has taken a long time to get anywhere in this story, but it will probably take a while longer because I want to get the characters more developed. So this and the next chapter at least will be background and introspection based over action. In fact, if you don't want to know my OC's a little better, just don't read this one.**

**Also, quick clarifier. I was asked if the character Earl Grey was meant to be Assam. Nope, Earl Grey's from the expanded universe if you look her up, and I liked the idea of including Darjeeling's Senpai. Also, LW Kilroy gets another freaking shout-out because he drew some epic artwork of Earl Grey and sent it me. **

**Carrier Dauntless – Tuesday 28****th**** January – 6 days till Wellesley's first match – 1630hrs**

It was a cold day on the deck of the academy's carrier, with clear skies and no cloud cover to keep the heat in. Most of the cadets were at least wearing gloves or other accoutrements to keep them warm in the inclement weather. Practice had just finished for today and the cadets were looking forward to their dorms and a hot drink. The session had been rather uneventful, and had mainly consisted of fairly standard drills, something the cadets had been grateful for, as Captain Hart's superior, Major Thomas, was a bit of a slave driver, but he had managed to curb the excesses of most of the teams particularly, Russell team, using his booming voice to good effect in haranguing them. Despite this, all of the cadets were glad to see their mild-mannered instructor back at the front of the parade ground. However, there was a vacant spot next to him. Pearce hadn't shown up to any of the day's exercises, and he had left wordlessly when the observers had returned the previous day. Hart thought it was a little fishy that he had listed himself as 'sick' just after his somewhat tense encounter with the Oarai girls, especially since Pearce had never had any form of absence from any of his classes.

Instead of the stoic team captain, standing slightly in front of the rest of the cadets, and with a huge smirk on her face, was Angela Clark, who had taken command of the cadets the previous day whilst most of the captains were away. When the rest of her peers had seen her issuing orders that morning, they had been more than a little surprised. Chris, normally, very laid back, had raised an eyebrow in a manner reminiscent of the team captain, whilst Katherine had glared at Clark whilst her back was turned. However, as the practice had been fairly standard, the captains had said nothing. Now, just as Hart was about to dismiss them, Clark added her own declaration.

"All captains, we're going to be having a strategy meeting, so convene in ten minutes in the meeting room."

As all of the cadets filed away, the captains began to head in the direction of the main academy building. Elliot was issuing instructions to his team, who were starting post-practice maintenance on the vehicles, which mercifully were almost unscathed from damage. Loitering back as Clark moved out of earshot, Katherine, Chris and Liam were conversing with each other.

"She's just assumed command, and expects us to go along with it!" Katherine growled at Chris. She'd argued with Angela before, and the competition between the pair was fierce for highest ranking girl in the year.

"It's certainly not the most legitimate of takeovers," Liam agreed, his nose as usual in a book, this time The Great Gatsby. He didn't really know either Pearce or Clark, but her self-appointment seemed a tad off to him. Surely the captains should have decided between themselves?

Chris shrugged.

"Sam's probably gonna be back tomorrow," Chris said, "Just go along with it for now, it'll shut Angie up." He said the statement a little more confidently than he felt. He didn't think he'd ever seen his colleague absent before, so it had to be something serious.

"Yeah, for now," Liam snorted.

The three of them filed into the meeting room that they had used before their last match, where all of the other captains were seated. Stephen was filling in for Pearce, and was as such attending the meeting, as usual quiet and stoic. Clark had chosen the seat at the head of the table, and was watching the other cadets as they filed through the door. Hart, seeing this as a time for his students to work out issues amongst themselves, peered in through the door and then strolled off. His role as an instructor was to help his students learn tankery, not spoon-feed them what they needed to know.

Once the captains had all taken their seats at the table, Clark cleared her throat loudly.

"Right, the first thing I want to discuss in this meeting is the command of our team, since our brilliant captain appears to be off sick," Angela declared, putting huge amounts of sarcasm on the word brilliant. "Since I am the second highest ranked academically, and commanded our team both today and yesterday, I should retain command for the team being. Anybody disagree?"

The silence at the table was so absolute that one could have heard their own heart beating. Nobody spoke, so Clark folded her arms and grinned.

"Good, now with that out of the way, I've come up several ideas for our match against Saunders after having a look at some of the last year's footage. Since their force seems to entirely consist of Shermans, and as such they are high profile, moderately armoured targets, I feel that a long-ranged confrontation would best suit our available assets."

The assembled captains weighed up her strategy. It was definitely solid, as befitted one of the top students at the academy, and she had obviously done her research. Most of them nodded, bar the leader of the engineers.

"I asked Captain Agnew the other day about this when he came to ask for some extra hands to repair the senior tanks, and he says Saunders has its own long-ranged assets in their Firefly tanks," Elliot contested, "Even though they're British tanks," he muttered.

"They only fielded one in the match with Oarai," Angela replied, "Whilst we have two 17 pounder guns and an 88mm."

"Yes, but they're supposed to be the most wealthy school in the tankery league," Anna pointed out, "They might have more, and probably won't hesitate to field them."

"Regardless," Clark continued, "With that in mind I think we need to focus on ranged firing drills, rather than manoeuvre for the time being. If we can hit the Shermans whilst they are out of range, we minimise losses. Clear?"

"Yes."

"Good. I will see you for practice tomorrow, and I expect you to be there bright and early."

As the team leaders left the room, Clark smiled to herself. All she had to do was show Hart and the other staff that she was a better leader than Pearce before the latter returned, and they'd leave her in charge, where she belonged.

On their way back to their abodes, Katherine and Chris were accosted by her team, who fell into step with them, evidently eager to find out what went on in the meeting.

"So," Alice prompted, "Care to tell us what was said?"

"It was quite a short meeting," replied Katherine, "She just got us to confirm that we'd put up with her as temporary commander for the time being."

"But why d'ya do that?" Sean asked, "We know you don't exactly see eye to eye with her."

"Because an arrogant bitch she may be, but she's still one of the most talented in our year, and her initial planning seems decent. It's pretty much her personality that ruins everything about her," Chris chimed in helpfully, "She's got a better claim than most to lead the team, it's just she wasn't diplomatic in taking the lead. I also can't see it going well when she's asked to step back down either."

"I guess."

The group wandered down the main thoroughfare through the academy, as the light of the day began to fade. The academy's regimented grid pattern of buildings made navigation around the carrier both very easy and very complicated, because while the structures on the carrier were arranged neatly, they all looked the same. Dorm buildings were only distinguishable from each other by virtue of small signs attached to their front doors. The only non-standard buildings were those of the academy itself, the tall and imposing central offices clearly visible amidst a sea of uniform cream-coloured residence blocks with grey sloping roofs. The gaggle of students stopped when they reached the point at which they would split up for their various dorm rooms.

"So what's everyone up to this evening then?" Chris asked.

"Well actually," Caitlin said, "Sean, Alice and me were going to go and do some band practice, cos we haven't been keeping up on our instruments recently."

"Really?" asked Katherine, "I've heard Alice playing her violin before, but what do you guys play?" A keen musician herself, she was quite intrigued.

"Well, Sean and I alternate rhythm and lead guitar, and Alice sings as well as plays her violin. We haven't decided what genre of music to do, but we're kinda leaning towards a bit of rock, maybe metal at a push."

"That sounds pretty awesome," Chris replied, "Do ya need a drummer? Cos I might be able to help ya out there."

"I can play a bit of piano/keyboard as well," Katherine added.

The three band members looked at each other, and grinned widely.

"You're in," they said simultaneously.

Sean turned to Rosie. "Hey Rosie, do you do anything musical?"

Rosie shifted a little uncomfortably. "I write a little music from time to time, but I haven't really settled on an instrument. I've tried guitar, trumpet, piano, but I just think that the theory is better for me," she said modestly.

"Well you should come write some stuff for us then!" Alice exclaimed, "It'll be great, we can get together as a team, learn more about each other. I mean we don't usually see each other outside of class very often, so it'll be a nice bonding experience."

"You want to meet up tomorrow then? I've got a couple o' things to do this evening," Chris said.

"Sure,we'll see you later then," Alice said, before turning to the others, "Come on then, let's go make some noise!"

Katherine and Chris waved the rest of Clinton team goodbye as they headed their separate ways.

"Ne, that sounds fun doesn't it Katherine? We've got pretty much a full band now and a writer, although I reckon we aren't gonna get too much time this term to play, what with tankery and all."

"I just hope it actually get somewhere," she replied, "I hope it doesn't go the way of the last group I practiced with, we never practiced together, we just talked about playing."

"Well, it's not like we can go anywhere, we are on an enormous carrier after all. I'm pretty sure it'll work out."

"I hope so. Curry for tea?" she asked.

Chris smiled. "You know me too well," he said, linking hands with her as they walked home.

**Wednesday 29****th**** January – 0800hrs**

Unlike the previous day, this practice session seemed to be set for clear skies and a decent temperature. It was half an hour before class, and Hobart team could be found in their usual place, under, inside or generally tweaking with one of the vehicles. Elliot was laid on one of the mechanic's creeper boards, looking up at the underside of his own team's Comet. Lucy was swabbing the barrel of the same tank, her curly brown hair stashed under a blue cap so it didn't get in the petite girl's way. Isaac was halfway through replacing one of the interleaved wheels on the Tiger, laboriously removing the outer ones to get to the third bank, where one had cracked. He mopped his brow as he pulled the second of the middle bank wheels out, sweeping an errant strand of red-dyed hair out of his eyes. Rooting through the stack of spares at the back of the shed was Sarah, whose towering stature was somewhat dwarfed by the huge containers of parts and supplies she was looking through. Finally, fixing the hinge on driver's hatch of one of the Cromwells was Luke, who had exchanged his uniform top for a vest, emphasising his broad physique.

The therapeutic sounds of minor mechanical work were interrupted by the arrival of Chris.

"Hey there guys, how's it goin'?" the stubble-faced cadet greeted his teammates.

Elliot slid his creeper board out from under the tank with a weary look on his face.

"We're kind of behind schedule."

"That's bullshit! We're only behind because we were told to make sure all of the tanks were in top condition, not that we ever leave them in anything less than that," Isaac hollered across the hall, "Clark took it upon herself to tell us what we needed to do to get everything in perfect order."

Elliot looked back from his subordinate to Taylor with an expression of virtual exasperation.

"Meh, she'll not be around long." Chris stated." You ain't seen Sam this morning, have you? I know he usually comes in to talk to ya before the session."

"Haven't seen him in a few days now," said Elliot. It was a tad strange, given how they often conversed about maximising the mechanical side of their vehicles.

"Well then, I'll let ya get back to it. I'm gonna go meet Katherine. See ya in a bit." Chris waved and left the shed.

Elliot rolled his creeper board back under the Comet and carried on his work.

"What do you reckon to Clark being in charge then Luke?" Isaac hollered to his colleague, who was replacing one of the tow hooks on the Achilles.

"Got no real opinion of her," the big cadet replied, "She's in the year above me, so I don't really see her much outside of practice. She comes across real serious though."

"Though she was a bit arrogant if you asked me," Isaac replied, as he hauled the last wheels back into place, waving Lucy over to help him refit the track and check its alignment.

"Nobody did though," giggled Lucy, dodging a playful swing from her team-mate.

"Well it's not gonna affect us," said Elliot, rolling his board back out from under the tank, "The team needs this crew to fix all its vehicles and keep it running. I mean, as long as we do our jobs, we're pretty much fine. Just chill and let it all blow past you."

Sarah finished rummaging around in the spares bins, withdrawing a replacement track segment for the M10 and then affixing it to the side of the tank. She smiled at the rest of her team. "As long as it doesn't get in the way of doing what I love, that's fine with me. I just wish we had more stuff to fix than just these tanks."

Elliot turned towards her with an amused expression. "So you want to go fix the ship for us? I'm sure the engineering crews down there would be delighted to have another helper."

Sarah paled. "I don't think I need that much work, ne."

"My great-gramps once worked in the navy as an engineer during World War Two," Isaac chipped in, "Told my grandfather that there was always so much work to go around, on account of the tons of damage to all the ships in service, but he eventually got drafted into the army instead and ended up in Burma."

"Really? Which dockyard did he work at?" Sarah asked.

"Yokosuka Naval Facility."

"Never heard of it."

"I wouldn't have thought you would. It's in Japan. Apparently my great-gramps helped build and refit the cruiser Takao." Isaac said with a bit of pride in his voice.

"So you're family has a bit of Japanese blood then?"

"Yeah, just a smidge. I don't really know any Japanese though, so make of it what you will."

"I'm sure with your flame-red hair and your sarky attitude that you'll fit right in Isaac," Elliot commented caustically, cutting Isaac off before he could reply. "But as much as I'd love to know your family history, maybe we should finish up here?"

**Wednesday 29****th**** January – 0830hrs**

The team fully assembled in the courtyard for practice once more, arranging themselves in the neat ranks to which they were accustomed. It was warm outside, but not sufficiently to be comfortable for people in only a t-shirt. Once again, the head of the column was devoid of the diminutive captain, with a cheerful looking Clark in his place.

"Right team, we're going over our standard drills, cross-country driving, targets, targets on the move, all the normal stuff. Get your stuff and mount up, because we're on a timer before the next match! Captains, we're meeting after the session, the usual room." Clark spoke confidently, before turning on her heel and heading for the garages.

Simon and Liam looked at each other, and then at Allenby and Marlborough teams behind them. "That was… to the point," Simon said.

"Well, we can't say she's not taking this seriously," Liam replied with a shrug.

The pair ambled over to their Churchills, followed by their crews, who were talking amongst themselves. The amble very quickly became a brisk walk when Clark hollered at them to get a move on. The pair clambered into their tanks, slamming the hatches shut with a brisk nod to each other.

The two bulky British tanks grumbled out into the training zone behind their teammates, both teams quickly giving their equipment the once over and thanking the engineers for their diligence. Once Clark had got the first exercise underway, Simon turned to Chloe, sat impatiently in her gunner's seat, tapping her fingers on the sighting array, and addressed her.

"Ne, Chloe, have a little patience. Your turn to show martial skill will come soon."

"I know, I know. I just hate waiting. It's like when I was at Battle of the Nations, I had to sit out the first two days, and I'd turned up all kitted out too."

"Is this the big tournament thing you were telling me about?" Morgan asked.

"Yeah," Chloe replied, "It's kinda like tankery, because it's a combat sport in armour. I've been twice, but my full plate had an enormous dent put in it by some guy with a mace, so it needs repair now."

"I always preferred combat sparring over actual events," Simon replied, "It's pretty expensive to get together all the kit for re-enactment stuff. I saw that a full suit of plate armour would be several thousand pounds."

"I just like the ambience, the atmosphere of the big historical events though," Chloe argued, "It's one thing to do a little sword-sparring, quite another to wear armour and fight in a big group. You get a lot out of being with a group of friends doing those kind of things."

"Do you ever use siege weapons at these events?" Nathan asked from his position in the driver's seat. "The technological side of medieval warfare is always the best part."

"What, are you crazy?" Chloe shouted back at him. "You could kill someone with those things!"

Simon tapped Chloe on the shoulder. "I think he meant at targets, not at other people. You don't think Rob shoots that bloody great longbow of his at other people now, do ya?" The person in question turned away from his radio set and gave the crew in the turret basket a cheesy grin. Chloe swatted Simon back across the shoulder and looked away in a huff. Simon just smiled at the scene.

In the Churchill of Allenby team, the conversation was equally animated, the crew having little to do bar manoeuvre the tank onto the training field.

"You know what, I'll give you that it sold vast numbers of copies, but as a literary piece, it cannot be considered as superb! It is at best adequate," Liam concluded.

"Actually, I'm backing my brother on this," Will added.

"Philistine! You're just not capable of appreciating it as a sublime piece of fiction," Liz retorted.

Amelia rolled her eyes, leaning back in her seat. "You know Liz, there are far better books out there than Harry Potter."

"I don't believe you!"

Bethan, who would normally have been looking through her gun sight, chuckled slightly as she watched the bickering of her crewmates. Given that they were still doing cross-country drills, she decided to catch up on her book, leafing through her text on the conversations of Socrates. She still found it astounding that they would bicker about menial pieces of fiction, yet appreciated the finer messages of Homer's Iliad.

A far less relaxed environment prevailed inside Montgomery team's Tiger however. An awkward silence hung over the crew, who were communicating only when necessary, as they spent the entire practice session compensating for the lack of their fifth crew member, something which was hampering their performance. Even though the drills weren't exactly taxing, they found that the constant corrections and ideas that Pearce had previously given them weren't forthcoming, and as with any incomplete team, their efficiency suffered. Liam, Andrew and Stephen focused on their jobs, but Jo just seemed incapable of concentrating on her work at the radio. This continued into the next day's drill too. Eventually, Andrew poked Jo in the shoulder while she was day-dreaming.

"Come on Jo, get your head in it, we need to practice!"

"Sorry Andy," she replied, giving him a wry smile, "I wasn't really focused was I?"

Her eyes drifted to the empty seat next to Andrew, which the team's loader noticed immediately.

"Look, he'll be back tomorrow, I'll give ya odds on that," he said with a big grin on his face. "You worry too much, it's not like Sam's just vanished on us, we know where he is, even if he won't answer the door. He's just got some stuff to mull over, and he'll be right back, looking grim and disinterested, real soon."

Liam leaned across from his gunner's sight after he finished laying the gun.

"Look, it might be hard work, but we have to prove our team can function effectively, and look like we've improved, right? Otherwise Sam'll give us a ton of crap when he gets back, and I don't need that. I'm guessing you don't want that either, right, or do ya?"

Jo coloured. "Right!" she exclaimed, and immediately went back to fiddling with the radio, with a clear interest in checking all the settings. Liam and Andrew shared a look behind her back. Stephen, having sad nothing but heard everything, smirked a little.

While the Tiger's crew found their will to fight again, Russell team had improved by leaps and bounds. The gung-ho nonsense that had characterised their early performance had at least been partially reined in by Major Thomas, who had given the sporty cadets a 'polite talk', something none of the crew really wanted to talk about to their fellow teammates. Certainly, this meant that Elliot's Hobart team weren't rushed off their feet with repairing miscellaneous damage to Russell's tank, but the Cromwell's crew evidently needed a bit more polish to their handling of the tank before they became anywhere near elite.

"David, get those shells loaded now!" Stephen hollered. "Jake, lay the gun just like you were aiming a shot in football, just focus on where you want to go and release it."

"Got it!"

The team displaying the most skill in drills however was Campbell team, as Angela was driving them along with great drive and vehemence. Determined to demonstrate her skill in command, she demanded her team put their maximum effort into the practice session.

"Alexis, get that gun laid, I want to see those targets hammered!"

"Right!"

"Louise, get the shells in, keep the rate of fire up!"

"Got it!"

Wednesday and Thursday evening were spent with Angela planning out the strategy for the team's confrontation with Saunders. In Wednesday's session, she was still favouring a game of distances against the Saunders team, trying to keep them at arm's length whilst the heavy guns of Wellesley's most powerful tanks picked them off one by one. However, she snapped at Simon who suggested that it could perhaps be a better idea to employ the manoeuvrability and low profile of their Cromwells to lure and out-drive the Shermans. The briefing ended in an awkward silence, with Clark finally conceding Simon's point and dismissing them when she saw most of her colleagues were on Simon's side.

"That should shut her up," Katherine said to Chris as they walked home together. "I reckon we took her down a peg or two."

"I wouldn't be so sure," he replied, "She's got a wee bit of a temper that one. Until she gets a definite response from us, she'll keep trying to have her way. You must remember the class where we re-evaluated the battle of Adrianople?"

"Now you mention it, yeah. We were told to assume no prior knowledge and just plan the moves of Emperor Valens to see if we could do it any better."

"Some people fell for the obvious and did what Valens did in reality, based on the information at hand. Most of the rest either refused battle, which was a relatively sensible choice, but only some picked up on the reasons why, such as the need to recoup the strength of their exhausted troops."

"And then we had that marginal few, like Angie, who decided to attack immediately despite their troop's exhaustion. To her credit, she was the only one to extricate her troops from that hypothetical death-trap, but she didn't know when to quit, and went back in again," Katherine said, "You think that she'll be just as stubborn here?"

"She knows she's got a decent plan, we all acknowledged that, and therein lies the problem. Since she reckons that makes her right, she won't back down, and she'll be moody as hell with us tomorrow."

The following day, as Taylor had predicted, Clark was in a foul mood, and took it out on the crews. Practice was made far more rigorous than it had been the day before, and the following briefing session was little more than a reiteration of Clark's original plan, with a minor modification based on Simon's previous suggestion. Nobody bothered objecting, since it would have been a simple repeat of the previous day unless all the captains stood up together, which was unlikely. A combination of the likelihood of Clark's position being very temporary, her temper, and her obvious talent gave none of the captains any real compulsion to object.

**Friday 31****st**** January – 1300hrs**

The day's practice was far more relaxed than that of the previous day, as Clark had cooled off somewhat, and focused on bossing around her own crew rather than the whole team during the session. As usual, drill had started with manoeuvres, and was then followed by a series of target practices, at varying distances, and eventually some were done on the move as practice in case needed in combat.

Campbell team had just finished one its target practices when Louise opened one of the turret hatches and looked out across the other assembled tanks, her eyes flitting between the various vehicles that comprised the rest of the team. The loader's face sprouted a mischievous grin, and she turned to Clark.

"Hey, Angie, why do we have to have the worst tank? Its small, lightly armoured, the gun isn't brilliant, and we're pretty much relegated to scouting and flanking. Why can we not have a better one, I mean we deserve one right?" she said almost innocently.

Clark pondered it for a second. There were two voices in her mind, one telling her to explain that retraining the crews to another vehicle would take quite a while to achieve maximum efficiency, while the other voice was egging her on to take a better tank for herself. To her credit, Clark resisted the urge to perform a reshuffle, barely.

"We can't just reshuffle the tank crews now," she explained, "We'd need to retrain everyone to a new tank, because none of them are built identically, especially not in this team. If we were Saunders or somebody like that, we could switch between Shermans, no problem, but we have quite an array of tanks, and that would just throw the balance off."

"But surely the team's commander shouldn't be riding the scout tank right?" her subordinate fired back, eyeing the bulky Panzer of Montgomery team. "And with their commander gone, Monty team aren't exactly functioning at full effectiveness are they? And now that you're the team captain…." she trailed off.

The little voice tempting Clark came back full force, especially when the Tiger's gun roared loudly while she watched.

"I'll think about it," she told the brunette loader, who smirked. Clark's pride contended with her military sense in a consistent metaphorical battle for attrition, both concepts seeking to overwhelm the other. After all, why shouldn't she, as commander, be given the best vehicle? Pearce had been given the Tiger, so surely Clark was well within her rights to take it too. The thought of one-upping her rival crossed her mind, and she smirked as well.

**1800hrs**

The captains strolled away from the engine sheds in a group, heading for the main building as per usual for their strategy meeting, Katherine, Jo (as she was acting as Pearce's stand-in today), Elliot and Chris hanging back a ways just to keep themselves out of the rest's earshot.

"Clark seemed very happy when she called this meeting for some reason," Elliot said, the others nodding in affirmation.

"After the mood she was in yesterday, it is certainly suspicious," Katherine agreed.

"Well, we'll find out soon enough," Chris added.

"It'll all work out, I'm sure of it," Jo said cheerfully, with her typical pleasant smile on her face, something that left her friends puzzled. Surely she should be worried by the bad news usually heralded by Clark's good mood?

Filing into the meeting room behind their comrades, Katherine, Chris and Elliot selected their seats swiftly from those remaining, and looked immediately at the front of the room, where Clark had pulled up a team roster on the screen behind her. She cleared her throat to get the attention of Liam who, true to type, had pulled out his book as soon as he'd gotten a seat under him. With everyone's attention on her,

"Before we put some additional touches on our plan, I would like to make an announcement. After some consideration about our operational efficiency in our current vehicles, I've decided to make a minor tweak to our roster. I have decided to switch Campbell and Montgomery team's personnel, so that the Tiger can continue to serve as our command vehicle, while also compensating for the absence of a team member," Clark said, trying to sound as diplomatic and conciliatory as possible.

She tried to conceal a smile when the room went silent for a minute.

Chris raised a hand.

"I'm sure that your reasoning is most assuredly sound," he said, putting an near imperceptible level of sarcasm in his voice, just enough to convey his point without being insubordinate, "But what assurances do we have that this sort of arbitrary team shifting won't happen again? Also, why is this effective immediate? Surely it would be wiser to let the crews transition more slowly, in the gap between our upcoming and following matches?"

Some of the less invested captains, like Hawke and Rowley, glanced at each other nervously. They rather liked the way their team was set up. And who was to say that it would just be the tanks that were switched, not the crews?

Seeing the nervous shifting of the rest of the team leaders, Clark resisted the urge to retort angrily at the tank destroyer captain, but maintained her composure admirably. "Because the impact on the team would be such that the lack of experience versus the battlefield benefit would at the very least cancel each other out, if not work out favourably."

"I find that hard to believe," Katherine responded flatly.

"Regardless, I believe such to be beneficial to the team, so I'm going to go through with this," Angela countered bluntly.

"Then I call a no-confidence vote in your leadership," Clinton team's captain shot back.

Clark smirked at her. "I don't remember this being a democracy."

"I don't remember you being put in command either."

The two began to raise their voices at each other, while the rest of the captains decided not to intervene unless needed. The argument had nearly reached shouting level when another voice cut across the room.

"It's nice to see you've kept morale up, Angela."

Quietly closing the door behind himself was Pearce.

**(Quick note – the rest of this chapter will also be featured in the next chapter, as they will be simultaneous in chronology. I would advise doing so. I just didn't finish the chapter here because it would be unfair to leave a cliffhanger.)**

The captains all looked at the diminutive cadet like he was some sort of ghost, which nearly elicited an incredulous expression from Pearce. Surely his absence wasn't that much of a deal? It could have been because his current look conflicted with his usual appearance. His uniform was dishevelled, and he was missing the Knight's Cross that he oft wore. His visage and stance were even more confusing to his classmates. He was unshaven, something noticeable given his usual close-cut stubble, his eyes had bags under them, and his posture was somewhat slouched. All in all…

"You look like shit."

"Thanks, Christopher, very comforting."

Pearce looked at Clark.

"Now I believe we were discussing what our roster and command system were like, if your shouted conversation was addressing anything. Do you have some problems with our current arrangement Miss Clark?"

Clark had just about pulled herself together by this point, and immediately rounded on Pearce.

"What hole in the ground have you crawled out of?"

"I was decidedly quite ill," Pearce responded, totally straight-faced. He was lying, of course, but let it never be said that his practice of looking emotionless had no benefits, as it gave him a distinct advantage in lying. "Now, can we get back to business? I believe you were about to discuss our strategy for taking on Saunders." Pearce deliberately omitted the part about switching vehicles, in order to let Clark avoid that dangerous subject, something she picked up on.

"Of course," she replied somewhat hastily.

"Superb. Now, what have you come up with?" Pearce asked everyone assembled in the room.

"Captain Clark came up with the idea of hitting the enemy at long range, to maximise the destructive potential of our heavier guns," Anna relayed, "But Simon suggested it might be wise to utilise the high speed and manoeuvrability of our Cromwell tanks to lure the enemy into traps, or to outflank the slightly less mobile Shermans of our opponents."

"Quite."

"We also reckoned that there might be Fireflies in the enemy's force," Chris added, "As they have been known to field them in previous matches."

"What of the terrain? I saw a map of the battlefield recently, but remind me."

"For the most part flatland, sparse tall hedgerows, some large hills. It's good tank country mostly," Elliot replied.

Whilst Pearce quizzed the other captains about plans and preparations for their match, as it was only three days away, Clark stood on and stared at her long term rival. He'd just walked in, looking like absolute hell and casually taken the meeting back over. He'd even ignored her trying to take both command and his precious tiger. She seated herself in the space she'd taken at the start of the meeting, and waited for the discussion to end. When the other captains had filed out of the room, she turned immediately on him.

"You think you can just waltz in and take control back from me, eh?" she questioned bitterly, indicating her distaste through her posture.

"Considering that you weren't appointed to replace me in the first place, I thought so," Pearce replied, adjusting his glasses carefully.

"Why couldn't you have just stayed away permanently! All I want is to not be one-upped by you constantly, with your superior attitude!" Clark shouted. Her counterpart remained unmoved. "Without you around, I would be leading this team!"

"Then I apologise for inconveniencing you so much. For what it's worth, I believe you would have done superbly as team leader."

"I can't believe that," the tall woman shot back through gritted teeth, "I can't help but feel like you dislike me, almost as much as I hate you."

"Really? Believe what you will, but if I hated you, you wouldn't even be on the team, let alone a captain. I put you there because regardless of what you think of me, I see opposite me a competent, skilful cadet who is a boon to the team, and regardless of our personality differences I consider you my equal." Pearce gestured to a pair of seats by the window, and after some hesitation, Clark went and sat opposite the smaller cadet.

"Miss Clark, you possess a lot of talent, I've seen it in class. What I don't understand is why you can't get on with me. I know I'm not much of a people person, and that you see me as having cheated you out of the leadership of this team, but I don't think I've done anything to warrant such hostility from you. Resentment and dislike, maybe, but hatred? I don't think I'm that bad, but please correct me if I'm wrong."

A dozen emotions ran through Clark's head, but two stood out: anger, as per usual, and a twinge of regret. She looked down at her shoes, and began to shake a little bit.

"I just want to be the best, and be acknowledged by everyone, but you stand in my way! And then you go acting calm and collected all the time, as if nothing concerns, because you're above it! Stop looking down on me!"

Her opposite number saw how frustrated Clark was looking, pinpricks of water, the beginnings of tears, forming at the edge of her eyes, and his expression softened.

"I'm sorry," he said, shocking Clark with the emotion actually carried in his voice, unlike his usual near-monotone, "I had no idea I irked you so much." He chuckled, again shocking the normally stern woman opposite him. "It seems that by building a wall around myself, I've not only kept people out, but I've hurt them too," Pearce said, more to himself than to Angela.

"Well you did. That fucking emotionless face you put on makes everyone feel like they're being judged, being watched, every action being analysed and critiqued. It's even more irritating when you get a better grade than me in class, because that only seems to justify your damn superior attitude."

"That was not my intent."

"Well, that doesn't matter, because that's the feeling you gave off, and everybody thinks that, not just me."

Silence reigned for a minute, while both teenagers thought about what had been said. Clark decided to wait for Sam to respond, studying his movements until he did so, speaking in a quiet, measured voice.

"Angela," Pearce said, looking directly into her eyes, "I apologise for making it seem like I looked down on you. Is it possible that we can start over, and work together?"

Clark saw the genuinely earnest expression of the cadet opposite her, and a ghost of a smile drifted onto her face. It didn't repair their relationship, but wiping the slate clean was the next best thing.

"Fine." She stuck her hand out to Pearce, who shook it tentatively. Clark stood up abruptly and headed towards the door. She looked back at the boy occupying the chair on the far side of the room.

"Just because you acted all emotional and apologetic here doesn't mean I'm gonna stop challenging you though, Pearce. Simply cleaning the slate just means I have a little more respect for you now. But if you ever go soft on me again, I'll kick you straight out of that precious Tiger of yours and take the captaincy for myself."

Pearce turned, and smiled at her, which Clark found slightly disconcerting.

"I would not have it any other way."

**Chapter End**

**That, I believe is finished. Man, this has been a long chapter brewing. I know most people will be like, "Oh, it's just fluff, anyone could write that." Believe me, trying to expand characters is the hardest thing I've ever had to do in writing, and I do a history degree. I can churn an action sequence out, no problem, but character development is always difficult.**

**I tried to go down the GUP route of having team themes, as you might have noticed. I've not finished choosing all of them yet, but I'm getting closer.**

**Like I said during the chapter, and before it, read the next one to get the whole picture of what's going on. The next will be Pearce, Yukari and Erwin-centred, while he mulls over the stuff with Erwin, and Yukari and Erwin do likewise with him.**

**Final Announcement: I went to see Sabaton in concert, and have decided, based on their bloody awesome performance, that there will be more references to them, and their music will be featured more often. That is all.**

**Ja ne! HereticalShinigami out.**


	13. Chapter 13: Know Your Enemy And Yourself

**Hey there! It's the HereticalShinigami, back with another chapter.**

**This chapter may be a little down, a little grim, and a lot more contemplative than I usually do. My trusty 'betas' who usually read this are a little busy at the moment with exams and such, so I hope this offering is good regardless. As usual, if you want to comment, please do, I always appreciate it, especially if I can answer the issue.**

**To Tabak - you pointed out the M10 Achilles is indeed open-topped. I may have missed this detail in previous chapters, but some Achilles in combat were fitted with roof-kits to protect themselves against shells and grenades that could hit the open fighting compartment, and this is what I'm going with for this story.**

**Carrier Dauntless – Tuesday 28****th**** January – 1630hrs**

Why? Why did her words sting so much, after so long? Pearce was laid on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He couldn't focus properly on anything, and he'd listed himself as sick knowing that he wouldn't be able to function until he got over this issue. So instead, he sat, staring blankly at the ceiling, wondering how to process what his former friend had said.

If she had missed him, why had she not sent him anything? No letters, no telephone calls, no form of communication. He knew emphatically that his parents had given her parents a note with all of his contact details on before they left for England, and yet he'd had almost nothing. Those first few initial letters had been like a lifeline to Pearce, but they stopped all too abruptly, leaving him without anyone to turn to. There was no-one to talk to at school, no friends that he made bar some casual acquaintances, and his parents were almost never home, and didn't share his interests. In fact they were vehemently against them, quietly disapproving of anything military. It was easy to see why. Pearce glanced at his shelves, where a couple of framed pictures sat, including the one of him and Erwin, although that one was currently face down. The other pictures however were family photos. There was one from when he was an infant, and five people were in the picture frame: himself, his mother, his father and his uncle Andrew. Andrew was a tall man, stocky, greying at the temples, with an air of confidence about him. He was wearing military uniform, the patches and stripes attached to it indicating the rank of colonel. Pearce looked at the next picture, taken approximately 4 years later. It was painfully obvious what was missing. Andrew Pearce had not returned from his last tour of duty.

His father had cried. It had been the only time Pearce had seen his father cry, since he usually was quite a composed man. Pearce had shed a few tears himself. It was a tradition in the Pearce family that the firstborn don the uniform of his country and fight. Andrew Pearce had followed that tradition, whilst Sam's father James, the second son, had instead gone into academia. James had avoided the fate of many Pearces by virtue of his later birth. Many of the firstborn children of the Pearce family, both sons and daughters, had joined the military, served with distinction, and gave the ultimate sacrifice. Samuel Pearce was only the latest of those scions to follow this path. It was not out of some misplaced sense of duty that he did so, but because it felt right. He understood the ins and outs of war better than almost anything else he studied. He felt at home looking at and handling military items, swords, rifles, wearing uniforms. James Pearce had not been pleased when his son had told him that he wanted to attend a military school and follow a military career. It was understandable, after all, since James Pearce had lost his brother, his cousin and his father to the service of the nation. He could potentially lose his son as well. Since Sam had declared his intention to join the military, James had done everything he could to dissuade him, as had Emma, Sam's mother. All that had done was make the youngest Pearce more driven to succeed, so that he could prove to his parents that he belonged there.

But was it worth it? Sitting up on his bed, Pearce stared at his living quarters. They were by no means Spartan, but they lacked a little character. Arranged around the room, as might be expected of someone in a military profession, were items of that nature. The walls were bare, no posters or banners hanging from them. History books and music indicated a passing interest in something else, no more. Sam couldn't help but feel a creeping sense of emptiness, a hollow sensation deep within him. He had subordinated everything to his career, even his emotions. Maybe Erwin, no, Riko, was right? Certainly accusing him of being cold was nothing new. Even those few people he was familiar with often said that, even if in jest. And what of those people? All Pearce had done was interact with them, no more. He certainly hadn't been open with them, and they still persisted in their pleasantry. Sam certainly wasn't used to it. His usual experience with people of his own age had been negative, not positive, and he had no idea how to react, so he held them at arms-length. Letting them in and opening up to them had been a no-go, that left him vulnerable.

Pearce stood up and went into the kitchen. He neatened his clothes, despite having no intention of venturing into public so attired. He was wearing a plain black t-shirt and a pair of grey/blue pants, with plain black socks and slippers. Filling and flicking on the kettle, he pulled a plain white mug out of his cupboard and dropped a teabag into the waiting cup. He waited patiently for water to boil and then poured the heated liquid straight into the mug. Stirring it and then adding a dash of milk and a teaspoon of sugar, he took the hot beverage back to his room, where he sat calmly in his chair, sipping it, and trying to make sense of everything that had happened recently.

There was a lot to think about. Pearce took another sip of his tea. 'This may require some time,' he thought. Old friends, his current colleagues, his work ethic, and his career path were all being questioned. Really, what part of his life wasn't? Pearce could at least take solace that he had a cup of tea, which always helped immensely with solving conundrums.

**Carrier Zuikaku – 1730hrs**

As the sunlight began to fade from the sky, our favourite brown-haired tank enthusiast/loader walked through Oarai, a purposeful stride underlining her determined focus. As she progressed through the streets, she spotted the house she was looking for, and approached the gated residence with an easy familiarity. The four names on the plaques outside the house, two in kanji and two in Latin script, gave away immediately the people she was there to visit. A swift knock on the door saw the bespectacled driver of Hippo team, Oryou, open the portal to the house and beckon Yukari inside. Knelt round a traditional table inside were her team-mates, each occupied with their own activity. Saemonza was polishing a katana, which fortunately Yukari knew was a wall decoration, unlike her bow. Caesar had a book labelled 'Commentaries' laid out in front of her, a hefty tome whose origin was given away only by the name Gaius Julius Caesar where the author's name usually was. Sat towards the back of the room was a large harp, which Oryou had explained was called a kudaragoto, which the latter had been practicing.

However, it was Erwin that Yukari wanted to talk to this evening. She would have been quite happy to sit and chat with the others in any other circumstance but she had some questions for the Hippo Team leader. The aforementioned had a copy of _Infantry Attacks_ in front of her, and appeared to be studying it quite intensely.

"Miss Erwin?" Yukari asked, getting the attention of the blonde-haired reki-jo.

"Huh? Guderian?"

"Would you mind if we have a talk, privately?"

"Um, sure, fine," Erwin replied, standing up and beckoning Yukari to follow.

Erwin led Yukari through the house, upstairs, and opened the second door on the landing. She walked into the room with a casual familiarity, and as Yukari followed her it was easy to tell it was her room. Flags of European nations hung from the walls, whilst a veritable library of modern history books lined the many shelves of the room. On a mannequin in the corner, her trademark jacket covered an officer's uniform, next to which a picture of the Desert Fox himself stood on the table. An overly large wardrobe hinted to Yukari that Erwin might have brought her many uniforms to school with her. Yukari settled herself on a bean bag on the floor, while Erwin perched on the edge of her bed, which had a black, white and red duvet covering it.

"What did you want to talk to me about then?" Erwin asked, gazing at her house guest, a cautious expression on her face.

Yukari thought for a second about how to word her queries, so as not to upset her host. "I would like to ask that cadet we met on the dockside, the one you knew from when you were younger."

Erwin's expression hardened a little. "You want to know more about Sam?" She shifted a little uncomfortably, almost as if weighing up her options. "Fine."

The blonde-haired StuG commander leaned back a little bit and a wistful expression crossed her face. "We went to the same school together for a few years, just as we were becoming teenagers. We shared a love of history, and where I specialised in a time period, he did so in a subject: warfare. Obviously, we talked most where our interests crossed, about World War Two. Because of the 'desert fox' that my hair resembles, I ended up getting nicknamed Erwin, and I liked it so it stuck."

Yukari giggled in spite of the situation. "Did you not consider a different soulname? Maybe one from an allied power? Like adopting the numerous hats and uniforms of Montgomery?"

"No Guderian, once my soulname was chosen it stayed. But we are veering away from the Schwerpunkt of the conversation."

"Verstanden. Please continue."

"Well, we were close friends for a couple of years. A couple of the things he got me for birthdays and other occasions you can see in this room," Erwin said, gesturing to a couple of the pieces of memorabilia, including her hat. "I got him a Knight's Cross just before he went home to England, because his parents' research project fell through. Strangely, I never felt like his parents liked me much."

"And then what happened? I don't assume that you pulled a 7th Panzer and just dropped out of communication like he said you did?"

Erwin adopted a thinking pose. "Well that's where things got strange. Our dispatches were fairly constant for a time, and we kept up to date on everything that had been going on. However, about six or seven months in, his tone changed. He had already told me that he didn't like his school and that no-one really got him in the same way that we had connected, but it was more as if a sense of desperation had come over him. It seemed as if he was not receptive to my missives, as he never referred to anything I sent him. Near his sixteenth birthday, he announced his intention not to send any more communiques to me, and that he was departing for military school."

"Did he not give a stated reason for not sending any more letters to you? It seems awfully sudden to just stop sending messages." Yukari asked.

"Well, the letter he sent said that he had not heard from me for several months, if not over a year, and that he was extremely unhappy that this had occurred."

"I just wish I could have seen the letter," Yukari said, "Maybe I could have gleaned some insight into his psyche at the time of his writing the letter."

"Fortunately for you, I can grant that," Erwin responded. She flipped her hat off her head and lifted an almost invisible part of the inner lining, and withdrew a small parcel of slightly yellowing paper, marked by a cipher of the iron cross, the counterpart to which Yukari had spotted on Erwin's desk, and the reki-jo handed the letter to her friend. "I decided I'd keep it, as the last memento of a friend, in case I never saw him again."

Yukari nodded, and unfolded the sheets of paper almost gingerly, wary of damaging the message. Once unfolded, she poured over every word of the note, taking in its message. She noted two things in the letter, first the lack of any emotion in much of the piece, almost as if it had been written as a systematic dispatch, and second, the clear conviction that Erwin had ceased trying to communicate with him some time ago, and that this had evidently caused a great deal of anguish to Pearce. Whilst Yukari tried to pry any hidden meanings out of the text, her blonde compatriot laid back on her bed and cast her mind to her friend.

"Miss Erwin, is there any chance that your messages could have been intercepted? Or simply not reached their destination?" Anglerfish's loader queried.

"I struggle to see why it would not have reached its destination, but it is a possibility," the StuG captain conceded, "I don't know of any potential foe that would wish to disrupt our comms system, but you make a valid point. I did keep sending Sam letters for quite some time, even if his replies say something to the contrary."

"Perhaps it might be worthwhile mentioning that fact to him when you next see him. It might make him a little happier."

"You make a good point, but you have yet to tell me why you are so interested in my old acquaintances, especially after how rude he was to you on the dockside. He's nothing like I remember."

Yukari shuffled nervously, and ran a hand through her hair, wondering how to respond to Erwin, who was now looking at her with an inquisitive gaze. It wasn't the easiest thing to put into words for someone who hadn't experienced the same things as her to comprehend.

"He had the same eyes," she offered lamely, internally cursing at the somewhat cryptic and vague explanation she had rendered.

"I'm not quite sure I understand," Erwin replied.

"I used to wear the same expression as Pearce," Yukari explained, "It's when you just tune everything out, because you don't want anything to hurt you anymore. I used to have it because no-one understood my love of tanks, and I felt totally alone."

"You believe Sam has the same issue?"

Yukari nodded slowly. "Definitely. It's also in how he was acting, you know, pretending things weren't getting to him, but he actually was making a conscious effort to avoid you noticing him. He might have felt scared to act like he actually wants to, for fear of rejection or hostility. I wasn't exactly forthcoming to people about liking tanks once I realised very few people actually cared about them."

"Why? It's not as if I'd have been hostile to him if he hadn't insulted you and Miho."

"I don't know. Maybe he feels like you are part of the issue that he's had, because obviously his letters say he was lonely, and if you weren't able to get letters through to him, he might think you just lost interest in him too."

Erwin collapsed backwards on to her bed, arms splayed out, and stared at the ceiling. It seemed a little hard to take in what Yukari was saying, but the way her comrade was speaking, with such conviction and earnestness, had Erwin take notice. She pondered Yukari's last statement for a moment. It did seem quite likely, and given her friend's behaviour, certainly made sense. But it also filled the reki-jo with a bit of sadness, knowing that part of Pearce's anger and hurt was directed at her. It wasn't directly her fault, as she had faithfully sent letters to her friend for years, but her first few interactions with him now he had returned had hardly helped matters. What she did know, however, was that she wasn't just going to leave the current arrangement to stand. She'd taken the soul-name of one of history's boldest generals, and she'd be damned if she didn't emulate his fighting spirit!

Yukari by this point had been studying the motionless Erwin for a couple of minutes now whilst deep in her own thought. She was a little unprepared when her friend sprang up, put her hat back on her head and looked at her, a determined glint in her eye.

"Miss Erwin? Is there something the matter?" she asked, a little worried that her comrade had snapped. However, Erwin merely gave Yukari her typical cocky smile.

"Nothing's the matter, Guderian, but we have a campaign to plan!"

Yukari looked a tad confused at her counterpart's statement, which encouraged the reki-jo to expound more on her plan.

"The plan to win back my friend! I shall call it Operation Twister!" the blonde declared, laughing to herself and striking an appropriately dynamic pose. Yukari swore she saw a silhouette of a taller man stood behind the Hippo Team Leader, wearing the same imposing peaked cap and goggles. The loader smiled at her friend's exuberance, as Erwin pulled a whiteboard out from a drawer and a couple of markers.

"I have one question," Yukari said, "Why Operation Twister?"

"Because Typhoon, Tornado, Hurricane and Whirlwind were already taken."

**The Pearce Residence – 1830hrs**

The evening was beginning to darken rapidly as Emma Pearce walked quietly towards the house's study, where a warm glow was emanating from the interior. Opening the door, from where she could normally see her husband sat at his desk, she found her view blocked by a large computer monitor, part of a setup that was normally kept in the house's work room. Behind it was James, who had just finished setting the computer up, and peered round the screen to see his wife come into the room. Emma handed her husband the cup of tea she had brewed for him, and put her own down on the desk, before moving one of the other chairs round into position behind the desk.

"I take it everything's ready then?" she asked.

"Indeed," James replied, checking his watch and seeing that it was coming round to 18:45hrs, "And she should be coming online right about…. now." As soon as he had said that, the familiar sound of a skype call came through the PC speakers. James immediately answered the call, and a stern visage appeared on the screen. Sat, in traditional fashion, on the floor, with hands on knees and legs firmly tucked under herself, the Pearces saw Shiho Nishizumi for the first time. She was wearing a sombre and well-tailored suit, and her stern expression looked like it was a near permanent fixture. The room she was sat in looked like one that might be found in a traditional Japanese house, whilst the artwork of a tank on the sliding screen door gave away Shiho's association with tankery very quickly.

"I take it you are James Pearce," Shiho stated, folding her arms in front of her, "and you must be Emma. Professor Kazahana informed me that that you would like to talk to me."

"Yes, it's..." James began, only to be cut off.

"I was made aware of your predicament by Hibiki, and since I owed him a favour, I acquiesced to his request. He seemed to think that I could perhaps held you with this problem, given that my youngest daughter is similarly rebellious," Shiho cut in, "Although I must ask, why do you wish your son to stop following the path he is set upon? As far as I can tell, he is seeking to pursue an honourable career in the service of his nation. Miho, on the other hand, seems singularly determined to shame the long history of this family by breaking with our traditional roots."

Emma frowned at Shiho's statement.

"We want our son back because the course he is currently on could lead him to an early grave. We've lost too many members of our family to the service of our country already, and we have no desire to see our only child go the same way."

Shiho's stony visage somewhat softened, and when she noticed such on the video feed in the corner of her screen, she inwardly cursed. She was getting soft as she got older.

"Whilst once I would have told you that no glory could be won without sacrifice, and that you should let your son earn his share through service, I have been forced to reconsider my views in recent times," the head of the Nishizumi family said wistfully. She had been pleasantly surprised by the determination and ability that her daughter had shown in the previous term's tournament, even though Miho's victory had put a small dent into Shiho's conviction that the Nishizumi style was the only true path to follow. As such, she found herself once more considering her views. "Explain to me what the exact situation is, and I will determine if I can help you."

Emma visibly relaxed, and James nodded at Shiho.

"Wellesley Royal Military Academy is incredibly strict as to its student intake and as such holds its pupils to high standards. If a student should happen to fail a course, or perform according to the academy's standards in any other way, they can be dismissed fairly rapidly. This term, after a long application process, they joined the Japanese circuit for Tankery, as the European High School circuit shut down."

"Due to a minor incident between a visiting Japanese school and a German one if I remember correctly," Shiho added, receiving a nod from the male Pearce.

"Quite. Since the school is counting Tankery as a subject for those students entered in it, it means that should our son fail to perform, we can remove him from the academy into a safer academic institution. As he is currently the captain, I suspect being knocked out of the tournament might be enough for the headmaster to at least consider Sam's dismissal, especially if the defeat happens to be total and crushing."

"You realise that if your plan succeeds, you will have embarrassed your son and shot down his prospects, yes?" Shiho queried, her sense of martial honour asserting itself again. Pearce's parents looked at each other for a second, almost uneasily, as they grasped the true implications of their request.

"We do," Emma replied.

"Then I will be in contact shortly to explain exactly how I go about getting you your child back," Shiho stated, before cutting the video link abruptly.

As she shut the computer down, the Nishizumi leader pondered her objectives. Since Maho, and therefore the Nishizumi School, had been defeated in last term's competition, Shiho had initially been furious at her eldest. However, that had passed very quickly, to give way to a grudging respect for the new style that Miho had adopted, deviating from her family's hidebound traditional approach. Yet this did not mean that Shiho accepted her daughter's newfound style, but had rather kindled a new determination in the eldest Nishizumi to prove to Miho that the Nishizumi way was still superior. To that end, she aimed to have Kuromorimine crush Oarai, proving that their victory in the tournament was little more than chance. Thus, she had to make sure that Kuromorimine and Oarai got to the finals, a task that had been made easier by the first round matchups. The request of the Pearces to have Wellesley eliminated required more thought, although Shiho reckoned that the way the draw was lined up, it would sort itself out, provided she gave it, and the League, a little push.

**Thursday, 30****th**** January – Carrier Dauntless – 1700hrs**

A loud and persistent knocking at Pearce's door stirred him out of what had been nearly three days of reflection and soul searching. He willed the person at the door to go away, like a couple of the others who had knocked over the last few days, but the constant hammering told him that this person was not leaving until satisfied. He placed his copy of Sun Tzu back on his bedside table, and whilst some would consider The Art of War to be a strange book for consulting on life advice, Pearce recognised the wide applicability of such a tome, as its maxims were more about success than the finer points of strategy. He had particularly been taken by the quote 'If you know your enemy and you know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained, you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.' Whilst the quote was more aimed at the gathering of information, it struck Pearce that it almost worked backwards for him. He had won, but only just, against Kutusov, and in amateurish fashion, because he did not know himself. By closing himself off, he had denied who he was, but also by being cold, he had ignored those around him. Going into that battle, Pearce had known the enemy, through painstaking research, but not himself, and it had shown.

Ambling over to the door, he straightened himself up, and opened the entrance to Jo, who looked incredibly annoyed, an emotion not usually seen on her face.

"Where have you been for the last few days?" she shouted, "And don't you dare give me some sarcastic answer like 'in this room', I want answers."

Pearce just gestured for her to come in and sit down, rather than have this argument outside his flat where everyone could hear. Jo stormed into the room and sat down, tapping her foot impatiently as her friend took a seat opposite him.

"I've been doing some introspective thinking," Pearce said, "What was said to me recently by a few people has forced me to reconsider who I am and what I'm doing here."

Jo's expression softened a bit, but not by much. The boy sat opposite her looked like a bit of a mess. He had the faint hints of being unshaven, and his clothing hardly stood up to the same immaculate standards as those he wore in public. Pearce looked tired too, lending credence to the idea that something was eating at him.

"So you decided to lock yourself away and think about this on your own, rather than ask one of us, one of your friends, about it? You idiot." She smiled at Pearce. "If you wanted to talk about it, I was only a couple of blocks down."

"I didn't want to lumber you with any of my problems."

A meaty thwack echoed through the apartment as Jo slapped Pearce across the face.

"You have no right to say that! Unless you've forgotten, you're my friend. For everyone else, you're their team captain! Your issues affect all of us, and until you get over your need to distance yourself from everyone who cares about you, you'll find yourself with no-one to turn to soon enough."

Pearce felt the beginnings of tears pricking at the edges of his eyes, not at the pain of the hit he'd just taken, but at Jo's admission. To know that people cared about him was a bit of a shock and a bit too much to take. Jo spotted this and pulled him into a gentle hug as tears rolled freely down her friend's face.

"I stopped feeling like I belonged anywhere quite a while ago," Pearce whispered softly, his voice hitching a little, "But to hear you tell me that you cared about me, it made me the happiest I've been in a long time."

When his tears had dried up, and the pair had re-seated themselves, Jo spoke.

"All of us, me, Chris, Katherine, Liam, Andrew, we all care about you. We know you act a little distant at times, but we want to be there for you, because that's what friends do. I'm not sorry for hitting you, because I wanted my friend back, and there was no way I was letting him sit around his room moping, just because he had an argument with some old friend."

Pearce shifted uncomfortably. It couldn't possibly have been that transparent that his frosty exterior was at least in part an act?

"Look, I know you're afraid of opening for fear of being left alone again, but I think you should start to be a little more open with us. I promise, we won't leave you."

The diminutive cadet looked up at his normally cheerful friend to see a totally earnest expression of her face. He smiled wryly.

"I'll try."

"Good, because we need you to come back, and soon. Angela has taken charge in your absence, and I don't think the team is necessarily gelling as well as could be hoped. I'm not even sure if we'll be ready to take on Saunders, even with all the extra practice we're getting."

Pearce stood up abruptly, leading Jo to believe that he was going immediately to reassert control over the team, but instead astounded her by pacing slowly over to the kettle and putting it on.

"Would you care for a cup?" he asked her. Jo responded by nodding dumbly. "If you were wondering, since the planning seems to be a little behind, I thought it would be best if I do nothing until tomorrow's meeting, where I can restore order, and put some finishing touches on my plan to take on Saunders, which was underway up until my little episode, which you so nicely snapped me out of. So, tomorrow, what I would like you to do, Miss Reid, is to represent me at the captain's meeting, and I shall then turn up and reclaim my position."

"Why do you need an extra day to finish your plan for fighting Saunders?"

"I don't," Pearce responded, a new glint in his eye and a hint of a grin on his face, "I need to work out what I'm going to say to everyone else at the meeting."

**Friday 31****st**** January – 1810hrs**

Pearce had waited outside the meeting for about 5 minutes now, waiting nervously for the right time to intervene. He steeled himself against any nerves he felt, as he'd planned meticulously for this encounter since yesterday. As he heard voices rising inside the room, he knew his cue had come, and he swung the door open quietly, avoiding everyone's notice until he spoke.

"It's nice to see you've kept morale up Angela," Pearce said, swinging the door closed behind himself and walking casually into the room.

The captains all looked at the diminutive cadet like he was some sort of ghost, which nearly elicited an incredulous expression from Pearce. Surely his absence wasn't that much of a deal? It could have been because his current look conflicted with his usual appearance. His uniform was dishevelled, and he was missing the Knight's Cross that he oft wore. His visage and stance were even more confusing to his classmates. He was unshaven, something noticeable given his usual close-cut stubble, his eyes had bags under them, and his posture was somewhat slouched. All in all…

"You look like shit."

"Thanks, Christopher, very comforting."

Pearce looked at Clark.

"Now I believe we were discussing what our roster and command system were like, if your shouted conversation was addressing anything. Do you have some problems with our current arrangement Miss Clark?"

Clark had just about pulled herself together by this point, and immediately rounded on Pearce.

"What hole in the ground have you crawled out of?"

"I was decidedly quite ill," Pearce responded, totally straight-faced. He was lying, of course, but let it never be said that his practice of looking emotionless had no benefits, as it gave him a distinct advantage in lying. "Now, can we get back to business? I believe you were about to discuss our strategy for taking on Saunders." Pearce deliberately omitted the part about switching vehicles, in order to let Clark avoid that dangerous subject, something she picked up on.

"Of course," she replied somewhat hastily.

"Superb. Now, what have you come up with?" Pearce asked everyone assembled in the room.

"Captain Clark came up with the idea of hitting the enemy at long range, to maximise the destructive potential of our heavier guns," Anna relayed, "But Simon suggested it might be wise to utilise the high speed and manoeuvrability of our Cromwell tanks to lure the enemy into traps, or to outflank the slightly less mobile Shermans of our opponents."

"Quite."

"We also reckoned that there might be Fireflies in the enemy's force," Chris added, "As they have been known to field them in previous matches."

"What of the terrain? I saw a map of the battlefield recently, but remind me."

"For the most part flatland, sparse tall hedgerows, some large hills. It's good tank country mostly," Elliot replied.

Whilst Pearce quizzed the other captains about plans and preparations for their match, as it was only three days away, Clark stood on and stared at her long term rival. He'd just walked in, looking like absolute hell and casually taken the meeting back over. He'd even ignored her trying to take both command and his precious tiger. She seated herself in the space she'd taken at the start of the meeting, and waited for the discussion to end. When the other captains had filed out of the room, she turned immediately on him.

"You think you can just waltz in and take control back from me, eh?" she questioned bitterly, indicating her distaste through her posture.

"Considering that you weren't appointed to replace me in the first place, I thought so," Pearce replied, adjusting his glasses carefully.

"Why couldn't you have just stayed away permanently! All I want is to not be one-upped by you constantly, with your superior attitude!" Clark shouted. Her counterpart remained unmoved. "Without you around, I would be leading this team!"

"Then I apologise for inconveniencing you so much. For what it's worth, I believe you would have done superbly as team leader."

"I can't believe that," the tall woman shot back through gritted teeth, "I can't help but feel like you dislike me, almost as much as I hate you."

"Really? Believe what you will, but if I hated you, you wouldn't even be on the team, let alone a captain. I put you there because regardless of what you think of me, I see opposite me a competent, skilful cadet who is a boon to the team, and regardless of our personality differences I consider you my equal." Pearce gestured to a pair of seats by the window, and after some hesitation, Clark went and sat opposite the smaller cadet.

"Miss Clark, you possess a lot of talent, I've seen it in class. What I don't understand is why you can't get on with me. I know I'm not much of a people person, and that you see me as having cheated you out of the leadership of this team, but I don't think I've done anything to warrant such hostility from you. Resentment and dislike, maybe, but hatred? I don't think I'm that bad, but please correct me if I'm wrong."

A dozen emotions ran through Clark's head, but two stood out: anger, as per usual, and a twinge of regret. She looked down at her shoes, and began to shake a little bit.

"I just want to be the best, and be acknowledged by everyone, but you stand in my way! And then you go acting calm and collected all the time, as if nothing concerns, because you're above it! Stop looking down on me!"

Her opposite number saw how frustrated Clark was looking, pinpricks of water, the beginnings of tears, forming at the edge of her eyes, and his expression softened.

"I'm sorry," he said, shocking Clark with the emotion actually carried in his voice, unlike his usual near-monotone, "I had no idea I irked you so much." He chuckled, again shocking the normally stern woman opposite him. "It seems that by building a wall around myself, I've not only kept people out, but I've hurt them too," Pearce said, more to himself than to Angela.

"Well you did. That fucking emotionless face you put on makes everyone feel like they're being judged, being watched, every action being analysed and critiqued. It's even more irritating when you get a better grade than me in class, because that only seems to justify your damn superior attitude."

"That was not my intent."

"Well, that doesn't matter, because that's the feeling you gave off, and everybody thinks that, not just me."

Silence reigned for a minute, while both teenagers thought about what had been said. Clark decided to wait for Sam to respond, studying his movements until he did so, speaking in a quiet, measured voice.

"Angela," Pearce said, looking directly into her eyes, "I apologise for making it seem like I looked down on you. Is it possible that we can start over, and work together?"

Clark saw the genuinely earnest expression of the cadet opposite her, and a ghost of a smile drifted onto her face. It didn't repair their relationship, but wiping the slate clean was the next best thing.

"Fine." She stuck her hand out to Pearce, who shook it tentatively. Clark stood up abruptly and headed towards the door. She looked back at the boy occupying the chair on the far side of the room.

"Just because you acted all emotional and apologetic here doesn't mean I'm gonna stop challenging you though, Pearce. Simply cleaning the slate just means I have a little more respect for you now. But if you ever go soft on me again, I'll kick you straight out of that precious Tiger of yours and take the captaincy for myself."

Pearce turned, and smiled at her, which Clark found slightly disconcerting.

"I would not have it any other way."

**Chapter End**

**I know I said this chapter would be out soon. Well, I'm sorry, but university work got in the way again, and so did Christmas. (My new guitar provided a distraction I was loathe to give up). But anyway, here is another chapter. I've tried my best, and I hope you've enjoyed it too.**

**Next Chapter: Saunders.**

**Ja Ne!**


	14. Chapter 14: Crushing the Colonials

**Hi! I have returned! I'm surprisingly not dead, but I had to stop writing for a bit for two reasons: 1, that I have mountains of university work to deal with, and 2, that in my spare time I wasn't feeling up to writing what has seemed a fairly daunting chapter. I apologise for the wait. But here you go, over 12,000 words, and one month after my last update, it is finally finished.**

**This time, I want you to go check out CKStudio on youtube. He has some good GUP AMVs.**

**I also realised that two of my characters share the same first name, which I have corrected with different spelling. Stephen is the driver for the Tiger team, whilst Steven is the captain of Russell team.**

**Saturday, 1****st**** February – Carrier Dauntless, The Meeting Room – 1700hrs**

"Right ladies and gentlemen," a voice carried over the hushed chatter of the room. As a general quiet descended, Pearce continued talking. "Whilst Miss Clark kindly filled in for me, you hashed out a basic strategy for taking on Saunders. I wish to refine this and assign our dispositions for the match on Monday. Firstly, there is the flag tank that must be assigned."

The other eight captains looked at Pearce a little confused, as they obviously thought it would be a foregone conclusion, given that their captain didn't trust anyone other than himself in that role. At the other end of the table, Hart, who had returned now the students had resolved their little internal issue, had a faint smile on his face.

"Really? We just assumed you were gonna keep it on the Tiger." Simon queried. "So you must be changing who it's assigned to if you brought it up, right?"

"Indeed, Mr Williams. I thought that tying the Tiger down by making it the enemy's number one target somewhat lessened its potential on the battlefield. Not to mention it's an enormous target for the Fireflies Saunders are bound to field."

"Spit it out then, who's being the big target?" Clark prompted.

"I'm glad you asked that Angela, because it's you," the team captain stated, giving Angela a ghost of a smile, which, if anything, did nothing to lessen her shock, as he went on to say, "Since you feel like I was snubbing you for assigning you to the Chaffee, I thought I'd give you the most important role this time."

Clark wasn't responding, so Pearce just plowed on with his explanation, noting the confused looks he got from some of the other captains. "Tactically of course, your tank is also the smallest and probably the most manoeuvrable of our lineup, making it far less of a target than the lumbering Tiger. Plus, against a standard Sherman in a one-on-one, your tank is at the very least its equal."

"So how're the rest of us gonna be assigned? I assume you have some sort of strategy for this," Chris drawled out, slouched in his seat nonchalantly.

"Saunders will inevitably field the maximum ten tanks for this stage in the tournament, and I would bet they will try to use the same doctrinal organisation as usual, with 3 tanks in their own squad, and the flag tank as a floating asset."

"You don't reckon they'll have switched it up?" Liam asked, "I mean, there's going with your strengths, and then there's dogmatic adherence. Surely they'll try something different."

"Whilst I can't be completely certain, this does seem the most likely approach they'll use. Our cousins across the pond aren't exactly known for switching strategies on the fly, and since Saunders operates in an American fashion, they'll probably do the same. Now, Elliot is going to brief you on something he brought to my attention before my absence."

Pearce gestured to the Engineering Captain, whose uniform was for once bereft of oil stains and dirt, and the two switched places, Pearce taking Elliot's seat between Chris and Clark, and Elliot standing at the head of the table.

"As Sam said, there was something I noticed when we went over the data from Saunders' previous matches, and that was the presence of this Sherman," Elliot said, flicking the screen on and bringing up a picture of a Sherman with a 76mm gun. Elliot pointed to the turret. "I suspect that it might be a co-ordination and radio interception vehicle. The replays show that it stayed out of the match until the virtual end, when it was ousted from cover. They've probably added more powerful signalling equipment, which isn't really necessary with the number of people we have on each team. There's no particular reason to field one as a coordination vehicle, and the extras comms equipment will take room, making the tank more crowded and less efficient."

The captains crowded around the room nodded at Elliot's points.

"Another thing that made me suspect that was the way Saunders fought against Oarai; in the first half of their match, Saunders manoeuvred as if they were prescient, cutting off Oarai's vehicles, surrounding them and generally knowing their every move. When the flag tank was found later in the match, Saunders went into complete disarray. It also makes no sense that they would keep the 76mm armed Sherman, the second best armed tank in their team, out of the match, without some kind of ulterior motive."

"That's a sharp eye you've got there Mr Jones," Hart offered, "If you'd missed that, your team could have been in some serious trouble."

"I mean there's also this," Elliot pointed out, flicking up another slide which appeared to display a balloon like device floating over the battlefield. The team face-faulted when they realised that it was an interception device; Elliot hadn't really deduced what the enemy's M4A1 was at all.

"The upshot of this," Angela pointed out, "Is that we can be prepared for it. Radio interception might catch the civilian schools off guard, but I doubt if they used it on Scharnhorst or Bradley that it would work. And we're sure as hell gonna be ready for it."

"Superb," Pearce put in, "I think in this instance I'm gonna defer to Katherine, since she's always had a keen eye for intelligence and communications work. Would you mind setting a code up for us, Miss Armstrong?"

Katherine nodded.

"But before we do that, we can also establish our other communications strategy. They may find it harder to tap our communications if once we've split into our operational groups we use different radio channels, and switch them every 10 minutes. At best they'll get some of our radio traffic, and at worst, nothing of use. Radio silence is also going to be quite helpful."

"Speaking of which, what is our Order of Battle?" Steven asked.

"Since we want to fight a battle of manoeuvre with our opponents, I don't want to tie us to too rigid a strategy, but for the sake of it, we'll split into three operational groups, similar to our opposition's standard strategy. Allenby, Russell and Wavell will form one group, Marlborough, Clinton and Hobart another. Roberts and Montgomery teams will accompany Campbell team and protect the flag tank. Hopefully, with the mix of firepower and armour in each team, if we come up against one of Saunders' platoons, we should have no issues in a straight fight. However, these formations are in essence ad hoc, so we can maintain operational flexibility."

Indicating that it was her turn to chair the meeting, Pearce waved Katherine up to the front and took her seat at the table. The blonde cadet looked a little hesitant initially, but pressed on.

"Well, when we did classes on intelligence, our premise was always that we were facing a sophisticated modern military, with both sides having hi-tech gear. Instead we're against civilians, undoubtedly intelligent ones, but still civilians, so we should have an easier time of it, even without scrambling equipment and encryption devices. A few simple verbal codes should suffice to secure our communications against intrusion, particularly when combined with judicious radio silence and use of channels," Katherine began.

"A sensible analysis," Hart offered, nodding his head.

"My first suggestion is that we reverse the grid positions of all map data when an advance is ordered, as it should provide at least a minor obstacle to code breaking. We can add another layer of complexity to that by adding a false number to the end of the map reference."

The assembled captain nodded in approval as Katherine looked at them. Somewhat emboldened, she continued with her planning.

"Following this, we need basic callsigns for each team, and each operational unit, although the latter is optional, and these need to mask the specific unit it refers to, or perhaps spreads misinformation for even greater effect. I can imagine Saunders would be somewhat shocked when the Cromwell they thought they were ambushing turned out to be a Churchill or a Tiger, even if they did break our system. These false callsigns need matching to specific actions, be they manoeuvre, assault, or scouting. That should about cover our bases."

"Any suggestions?" Pearce asked, directing his question to everyone assembled.

"Perhaps we should use elements of the academy's history. We already did it for the team names, so maybe battles?" Steven suggested.

"I can't see a reason why not," Pearce replied, "We just have to have something that misdirects our opponents, and since we're all familiar with the subject matter, it should be fine."

"Well students from Wellesley have been involved in the greatest battles of Britain for over two centuries now, so you shouldn't have any issue picking some good ones," Hart pointed out.

Several minutes of discussion later produced nine names to fit the teams. Montgomery team were given Plassey, Wavell Team received Sidi Barrani, Campbell Team got Balaclava, Roberts Team received Kandahar, Russell Team Cassino, Clinton Team Monmouth, Allenby Team Aleppo, Marlborough Team Ramilies, and Hobart Team Megiddo. To ensure that the code names weren't traced back to different units by voice, at the suggestion of Anna, all teams were to respond as one to issued commands.

This was followed by a little more brainstorming on the team's behalf, as the captains came up with ways to disguise orders behind codes as well. This was settled via a simple alphabetical system, as the team thought it unnecessary to come up with equally complex command language. A indicated scouting actions, B aggressive movements, C commands to be executed by stealth, D fall back manoeuvres, E defensive actions, and F feigned flight manoeuvres. Combinations of these could also be issued to make more complex orders possible. Hostiles were to be referred to by the term 'Culloden'.

Thus, when put into practice the next day, when Pearce ordered Cassino to C 8415, he was ordering Russell team to stealthily advance to grid position 148. To make sure they understood exactly what they were doing, Pearce drilled the cadets for 10 hours in their vehicles, executing and memorising the commands.

At the end of practice on Sunday it seemed that the team had for the most part assimilated to their hastily constructed code system, and that when the time came in their match, the cadets would be prepared to face Saunders, confident in themselves and their tanks. A small smile of satisfaction from Pearce as he watched the team disperse for the evening conveyed his approval. He walked off for a quick final briefing session with the captains before retiring for sustenance and sleep, as it would be an early start the next day.

**Monday, 3****rd**** February – Match Day – Port – 0700hrs**

"Man, did we have to get up so early?" Chris complained, as the team was doing quick checks over their vehicles after disembarking the Dauntless.

"I'm not sure what grounds you have to complain now," Katherine replied with an amused tone. "I mean we have been doing this for a few weeks now, and being a cadet has given you plenty of early starts."

"Yeah, but this is different," Chris whined, only to get clipped round the ear by Amy, who had just about had enough of her captain's antics, only an hour after they'd met up to get prepared.

Despite the early hour, the sun was starting to warm the day up, and it was a fine day. The lack of clouds in the morning sky suggested that the fine weather would last for the entirety of the match, if not the whole day. It was going to be a fair march for Wellesley too, as the bustling home port of Saunders was a rather large urban sprawl, and the match's venue was a decent distance outside of the city. Thus, once Wellesley's checks were done, they set off at a relaxed pace, each team checking over all their instruments whilst they marched.

Stood proudly in the cupola of the Tiger, Pearce swivelled round to look back at the column of tanks, which were clattering through the city, although the citizens seemed totally unfazed. Guessing that they were used to Saunders parading through the streets, Pearce looked off to the side of his vehicle, where Hart was keeping pace in a staff car. The cadet noted the picnic basket in the back, and couldn't help but be amused by the fact the Tankery instructor would probably be nibbling on sandwiches whilst his students hurled shot at another school. Looking in front of him to where Wavell team were leading the column, Pearce received a cheery wave from Chris, who was reclined in the open turret, as he planned to affix it once they arrived on the battlefield. By affix he meant let the engineers do it for him, a fact which irked Elliot to no end.

Ducking back into the turret, where his crewmates has pushed all the hatched open to air the vehicle, Pearce decided not to nudge Liam, who was trying to sleep against his gun sight, and instead turned to Andrew who was checking over the ammunition stowage, obviously somewhat nervous about the upcoming match.

"Mr Roberts, please at least try to calm down. The ammunition rack isn't going to spill its shells any time soon, and no amount of fiddling is going to affect it."

Andrew looked up from his faffing with the racks, somewhat embarrassed.

"I just don't want to be to blame for anything going wrong and us losing," he said.

"You don't need to worry about that, you'll do fine," Pearce said reassuringly, before his expression hardened, "I'm the one to blame if we end up defeated. A few spilt shells might be a little setback, but a mistake on my part could prove disastrous."

"Ne, I don't think you'll mess up Sam, you know what you're doing."

Pearce was a little moved by this small show of faith from his loader. It gave him quite a boost to know that somebody trusted his judgement.

"Anyway, all we have to do is our best," a cheery voice chimed in from the radio operator's seat, "And I'm sure that will be enough to get us a win." Jo was busy memorising all of the channel switching that she would have to do to maintain radio contact with the rest of the team, but paused for a second to throw a pleasant smile the way of her teammates.

"And what of you Stephen? How do you think we'll do?" Andrew hollered, disturbing Liam's relaxed nap.

The taciturn driver shrugged at the question. "We have a good chance of winning."

"It would be higher if somebody had kept their damn voice down," Liam growled half-heartedly at Andrew, who smirked at the gunner.

The light-hearted bickering of the crew continued throughout their journey, with Pearce feeling the urge to repress a few chuckles as Liam and Andrew hurled sarcastic comments back and forth at each other. For the first time in a while, the leader of Montgomery team felt at ease.

As the team approached the outskirts of the city, they spotted the Saunders camp. As it was home turf for the American team, it was even larger than expected, and Stephen let out a long low whistle when he saw it. Sprawled out across a wide space were a large number of tents and trucks, with a large number of students milling around between all of the amenities they offered. The Wellesley students were assigned a field adjacent to the Saunders camp, so the armoured column filed into the given area and disembarked, many of them shucking their outer uniform jackets due to the increasing warmth of the day. Hobart team immediately went back into action, doing quick and thorough checks over all the Wellesley team vehicles, with Elliot berating Chris about not reattaching the roof kit sooner.

Within ten minutes of Wellesley's arrival, a cadre of Saunders students started wandering over to their vehicle park, to which the cadets greeted most cordially, but maintained a close eye on them. One of the Saunders students was talking animatedly with Steven, but the leader of Russell team looked somewhat confused and pointed in Pearce's direction, leading the enthusiastic tanker to bound over to where Pearce was stood, and had been talking to Katherine and Anna. A tall blonde with an enormous grin on her face, decked out in an American tanker's jacket and a pair of short shorts, she appeared genuinely cheerful and pleasant.

"Hey there! One of your teammates over there told me you were the captain of your team. Am I right?"

"You would not be incorrect in that assumption," Pearce replied, extending his hand, "Samuel Pearce. Nice to meet you. And you are?"

"You can call me Kay," the girl answered, shaking Pearce's hand energetically, "I'm the leader for Saunders. It's nice to see a few new faces in the league. Maybe you can shake things up a bit this term. Ya know, if you can get past us that is."

"Who knows? Maybe we'll surprise you." Pearce indicated his present company. "These are two of my captains, Anna and Katherine." Both of the girls nodded at Kay.

At this point, two more of the Saunders girls joined Kay, a shorter freckled girl with pigtails and a very tall girl with short brown hair.

"These are Alisa and Naomi, my lieutenants," Kay said, answering the unuttered question from Pearce, gesturing to indicate which was which.

"A pleasure."

Naomi inclined her head in greeting, whilst Alisa looked distinctly underwhelmed by the cadet captain, whose diminutive stature (despite being similar to hers), had somewhat dispelled the fear she'd had of aggressive, stern-faced youth soldiers. In fact, with the relative friendliness and the distinctly calm air that surrounded most of the cadets, Alisa was wondering if only the uniforms differentiated the academy students from her own school. Feeling somewhat reassured, she looked Pearce, Anna and Katherine up and down.

"Welcome to the tournament. I take it this is the first time your team has participated in tankery of any sort?" Alisa asked, inflecting it as little more than a harmless question, but trying to sow a little doubt.

"This would be our first time participating in a tankery tournament, although not the first time we have received instruction on tanks. This opportunity that we have been presented with should provide some valuable experience."

"Well, I hope you're feeling ready, because this competition is quite fierce."

"I assure you that we are as ready as necessary. A more prudent question would be to ask yourself if you are ready to face us," Pearce responded, taking a little pleasure in seeing Alisa's temper starting to flare.

"Anyway," Katherine cut in before anyone could start an argument, "Let's have a good, fair fight."

The three officers on each side shook each other's hands before the Saunders team departed. When they were out of earshot, Katherine rounded on Pearce, who looked faintly amused.

"Don't think I didn't see you trying to wind her up deliberately. You slipped back into that mask you'd started pulling down around us and then spent the rest of that conversation trying to irritate that Alisa girl. What exactly were you hoping to accomplish?"

"She was trying to mock us, so I got a little payback."

At this point, Simon came wandering over to his fellow captains.

"I went on a stroll through their camp just now, and had a look around. It's an enormous encampment, and it has all sort of amenities in it, including at least five different food stands. But anyway, I noted their line-up whilst I strolled past Saunders' tanks. They've brought 7 M4s, a Firefly and two M4A1s with the 76mm gun. One of them is that one with the boosted radio antennae too."

"So they've only added one big gun compared to when they fought Oarai last term. So, if we balance it out, we're actually on a fairly even footing tank-wise compared to them. In fact, we might even have an advantage," Anna said.

"Indeed. All we have to do now is determine if they are to be using their interdiction device, and then plan accordingly. Some ambushes prove highly effective if we can manipulate them."

A claxon rang out across the camp, as a representative of the League told the teams to be ready to mobilise and head out to their deployment zones. Wellesley's tankers immediately congregated around their machines, clambered aboard and prepared for deployment.

**Spectator Area – 0830hrs**

Hart had parked up the staff car on a hill slightly away from the stands and set up a deckchair to watch the proceedings on the giant screens set up for the public's amusement. He rapidly found himself wishing however that he'd set up even further away from the main spectator area, as the crowd, being on Saunders home turf, had turned out in droves and were making quite a racket. Nevertheless, he reclined in his seat and prepared himself to relax, until he spotted a colourful vehicle coming to a stop a few hundred metres away. Eyeing the pink jeep, Hart recognised the forms of the St Gloriana girls he'd met the previous week and offered them a friendly wave, which the blonde girl, Darjeeling, returned. Her orange-haired subordinate diligently continued to put up the chairs and screen that they had apparently brought with them, shifting the bewildering furniture around with a strength that belied her size. Hart chuckled a little to himself, before producing a bottle of lemonade from the box he brought with him and relaxing. With the amount of downtime he got from teaching, he was almost glad he'd been appointed to train the tankery students.

**The Battlefield – 0900hrs**

Having moved to their assigned zone, an open patch of grassland a fair distance away from Saunders' opening position, the Wellesley team awaited the match opening with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. Even the normally stoic members of the team were a little nervous about the match, especially facing one of the veteran teams straight out of the gate. Deciding to break the tense quiet more for his own benefit than the rest of the team's, Pearce radioed the rest of his team.

"Are all crews and tanks prepared? Sound off."

"Wavell team prepared," Chris drawled out.

"Russell team prepared," Hawke responded, his voice unworried.

"Roberts team is ready," Anna offered, perhaps a note of her worry drifting into her voice.

"Clinton team confirms readiness," Katherine answered.

"Campbell team's been ready for ages," Angela replied testily, betraying her irritation at how long they were being kept waiting.

"Allenby team is in full readiness," Simon confirmed.

"Marlborough team prepared," Liam said.

"Hobart team is fully prepared," Elliot finished.

"Good. Montgomery team also confirms its readiness." Standing up in his turret, Pearce decided to address his team fully. "Cadets of Wellesley Royal Military Academy!" he began hesitantly, "I know that you might be apprehensive about this match. I also share some of that worry. It is after all our first try in this tournament, and we are facing veterans of this competition. However, I believe that we are prepared. Our tanks are strong, we have trained hard, and we have planned for exigencies. So I say to you, we can win this match, as long as we all fulfil our allotted tasks and work hard at our duties." Pearce conceded that his words were hardly inspiring, since he himself couldn't put the unshaken confidence into them that would have made them motivating, but from the reassuring smiles his crew gave him when ducked back into the turret basket, he knew that he had at least put another prop into the unstable courage of the cadets.

Of course, one member of the team was more than prepared to point out the lacklustre nature of her captain's words. "I hope you come up with something better for the next round Pearce," Angela sent over the radio, "All you needed to say was that we're gonna go out there, kick Saunders' teeth in and get into the next round of the tournament!" To Angela's words, a small cheer could be heard from some members of the team, particularly Russell team, and almost none of the cadets could suppress a grin at the blunt confidence Clark displayed.

The buoyed mood amongst the cadets was somewhat dispelled when within the next couple of minutes, the voice of the referees crackled over the radio, and the signal flare was sent spiralling high into the air.

"Match Start."

"Cadets, move out. Radio silence and communications orders are now in effect." Pearce broadcast over the radio net, to be met by crisp affirmatives and then stony silence.

Wellesley's armour clattered out onto the open grassland with purpose. On the other side of the battlefield, in a patch of open ground much like the one their opponents occupied, the Saunders team awaited their orders from Kay, who had chosen one of the M4A1s as her command tank.

"All tanks, roll out!" she hollered to her teammates.

The Shermans began grumbling forwards, splitting into three distinct groups, one led by Kay, another two M4s were led by Naomi, who was commanding the Firefly, and another group of three was composed solely of M4 Shermans. The remaining M4A1, with Alisa taking the helm, slunk along behind one the team of M4s heading to the Eastern side of the battlefield, peeling off when she found a reasonably secluded spot, with a rise on one side of the tank, a hedgerow on the other side, and a copse of trees covering the front. Within minutes of her tank grinding to a halt, a small balloon went up near the Sherman, and the pigtailed girl began coordinating her team from the backlines.

The overall battlefield, much as promised by the maps Wellesley had studied, was fairly open grassland, demarcated by hedgerows, although with one minor issue that hadn't been obvious on the maps. The hedgerows were both broad and tall, making them present a fairly formidable obstacle. They helped break up line of sight on what would otherwise have been a completely open plain, and also forced the tanks to manoeuvre round them. This was proven to be particularly irritating for the group of tanks led by Simon, whose Churchill was being covered by Clinton team's Cromwell and Hobart team's Comet. Heading off to the West from Wellesley's northerly starting position, they had encountered a particularly thick and complex set of hedges, which forced the cumbersome Churchill to a crawl to navigate some of the fields.

"Mother******* hedges are just a pain in the arse," David groused, as he fought with the controls, "What I wouldn't give for a petard mortar to just blow those things open."

"They did equip these things with petard mortars during the war," Morgan pointed out, "Called 'em flying dustbins because they had an enormous calibre. Not sure of their anti-tank effectiveness though."

David grunted noncommittally. "Yeah, but it'd probably reshape the terrain to be a little easier for us."

"I can see why Saunders like this terrain as home turf. It's dense enough that heavy tanks have a hard time, and their tanks aren't open to long range attack, but it's also open enough that they can bound around in those Shermans of theirs," Simon commented.

"That goes both ways though," Chloe put in, "Our Cromwells are faster than their Shermans and just as well armed, so whilst it might have irked a team that fights with predominantly assault guns or heavy tanks, it isn't as effective against us."

A crackling on the radio heralded the voice of Luke Curtis, with the Hobart team radio operator requesting an update on their orders. Evidently Elliot's team was similarly concerned about staying in such dense terrain, where their view range was restricted. With Saunders playing on home turf, there was a great possibility of ambush, and so after consulting Robert, he gave orders to move to better ground.

"Monmouth Ramilies and Megiddo D 4186," Simon broadcast to his small combat group, receiving the needed affirmatives after waiting a few moments to let his teammates decipher the orders.

Giving David a tap to his shoulders to indicate which direction they were headed, Simon's battlegroup headed for more open ground.

In the centre of the field, Steven Hawke led his team across a mostly open centre ground, where rises in the ground helped break up line of sight. As a result, he had his teams spread out in a wide skirmish pattern, which stopped every time they needed to navigate round one of the hedgerows. The Churchill of Allenby team would then advance first, covered by Wavell and Russell team, until they could confirm clear terrain, and the whole advance would start again. The Achilles brought up the rear, as its long-ranged 17pdr could easily decommission a Sherman from even the rear of the group, whilst Russell team's Cromwell sat in the middle of the formation, where its speed and manoeuvrability could allow them to react quickly to any threats.

"Right lads," Steven had told his crew when they set out, "We're leading this group, so a lot of people are counting on us. We're gonna show everyone just how far we've come from last time."

"Yes, sir!" the team chorused.

"You know your duties, so keep to them. If we put our all in, we can hammer Saunders here like we did Sandhurst last week at Rugby."

"Hell yeah!" Kieran shouted back in a display of exuberance.

At the rear of the formation, Wavell team was coasting along in the wake of the other two tanks in its unit. As a result, a somewhat relaxed atmosphere had come over the previously fairly tense crew, who had begun talking amongst each other so as to alleviate their worry. What James noticed, however, was that his captain wasn't paying any attention to the conversation, and was instead gazing behind them from his hatch.

"Chris, what are you doing?" he asked, tapping the tall cadet to gain his attention.

"Checking that we haven't been outflanked," came the distracted reply. A minute later, satisfied that no Saunders force was behind them, Chris ducked back into the tank destroyer and addressed his loader. "As the last tank in the force, we have to make sure we haven't been outflanked y'know. We're the rearguard, as it were."

James nodded in understanding.

**Spectators' area – 0920hrs**

More so than the tankers on the actual field, the spectators were treated to a big picture view of the opening phases of the battle. From where he was sitting, Hart watched as both Wellesley and Saunders split into three combat groups of three to sweep the battlefield. What struck him as he watched was the slow deployment of Wellesley's tanks compared to their opponents, who had swept off from their starting locations at fair speed and were converging on the centre of the battlefield. He had observed the enormous hedgerows that turned what would otherwise be an open field into a virtual maze, and was pleased that his cadets were displaying an appropriate degree of caution in traversing the terrain.

Hart's neighbouring spectators on the other hand were not quite as impressed by what they had noticed. Pekoe sighed over the top of her tea cup as she spotted Arisa's tank when the camera view on the screen shifted. Darjeeling looked at her quizzically until Pekoe enlightened her.

"It seems Arisa has decided not to learn from last time."

"I see," Darjeeling replied, "I wonder what Kay will do when she finds out."

"Why would she even try to use the tapping equipment again?" her orange-haired subordinate asked.

"Arisa has always come off as a little competitive to me, so I would imagine she thinks that this interception device will give her team the edge in this battle. It will be quite interesting to see if Wellesley can spot her interception and counter it."

**Back at the Front**

Leading the Eastern portion of Wellesley's advance, Roberts team ground over the open terrain to the side of a road, hugging the lie of the land to try and gain as much concealment and cover as possible. Following them, and nowhere near as stealthy, Montgomery team clattered over the open space, the bulk of their vehicle clearly visible against the grassland. Following along in the wake of the Tiger, Campbell team used the size of their erstwhile teammates as essentially mobile cover, with Clark keeping a sharp eye out for any potential flanking forces.

"Kandahar CA, ahead 1000 please," Pearce broadcast to his forward element, sending the R&amp;D students one kilometre down the road to scout the way ahead as Jo pointed out the presence of a ridge a short distance away on their route. One of the battlefield's steep hedgerows lay 50 metres on the other side of the road, with short breaks in it every few hundred yards.

"Understood," the radio operators replied. Roberts team's Cromwell promptly began to trundle ahead of the other two tanks as it picked up a bit of speed, heading quickly but carefully towards the top of the ridge.

As the Cromwell bounced along the grassland at a fair pace, a particular cleft in the ground caused Lauren to nearly hit her head on the radio set. "I really wish we could modify the suspension on these bloody things," she groused.

"I concur," Anna replied, "But if we made the suspension better, it would also create a more stable firing platform, which would give us an unfair advantage. That's the reason this league doesn't allow modifications, because if we started putting modern parts in the tanks, it would put unmodified vehicles at a huge disadvantage."

"I suppose, but you would have at least thought the designers might include cushions. My backside's gonna be sore if we keep hitting bumps like this."

The medium tank rolled up to the crest of the ridge and came to a quick stop in some ground slightly concealed by greenery. Pulling a set of binoculars from stowage and popping open her hatch, Anna swept the ground ahead of her, first without the binoculars, then at a further distance with them. Spotting three green shapes rumbling down the road about 2 kilometres out, Anna popped back into the vehicle's hatch ahe instructed Lauren to send a report back to Pearce, before standing back up in the cupola and doing a more detailed scan.

"Plassey, Culloden 3, 2000 out." Lauren broadcast back to her teammates.

Hearing Jo feed it back to the interior of the Tiger and then translate it for them, Pearce mulled over his options. Both Montgomery team and Campbell team had pulled off to the other side of the road near the hedgerows, and were lying in hull down positions next to each other. Clark eyed Pearce from the cupola of her tank, having received the same update as the diminutive cadet. Hollering to her captain, she wanted to know what their next move was.

"Are we gonna ambush them?" she asked. "The terrain's right for it here."

Pearce nodded at Clark. "Assuming they continue down the road, then we can ambush them. So, in order to tempt our faux-Yankee opponents, Roberts team is gonna grab their attention and give them an incentive to chase."

"We can use the hedgerows for some cover too, pop out and ambush them with ease," Clark suggested, getting another nod from Pearce before he ducked back into the Tiger's turret to issue instructions to his crew. Within a minute, Pearce's voice was crackling over the comms system.

"Kandahar B Cullodens, please," Roberts team heard from their forward position, watching the Shermans roll closer to their hiding spot. Hearing the order to attack, Anna was tempted to ask for a repeat of the command, but was cut off by a followup order. "If Cullodens A, Kandahar to F. Plassey and Balaclava will CB 3227."

Knowing that the Chaffee and the Tiger were both going to be waiting in ambush for the Shermans that could end up pursuing them, Anna resolved herself to her task.

"Alex, load the gun. Ellie, take aim at the lead Sherman in the column, but don't worry if we miss. Let's bring Pearce a present."

With a whining of motors, the boxy turret of the Cromwell swung round to target its American equivalent with its 6pdr gun. Squinting down the gun sight with concentration, Ellie lined her weapon up with the lead Sherman, compensating for distance and shot dip.

"Let's start this match for real," she whispered, squeezing the trigger.

**(Girls und Panzer OST – Panzer Vor!)**

A thunderous crack whipped across the battlefield, followed a second later by the sounds of powerful impact as the shell churned up the earth just to the side of the lead Sherman. The first shot of the match had been fired. Across the battlefield, the tanks of both teams registered the sound, as faint as it could be, and were wondering what exactly was happening.

The rolling Shermans actually slowed for a second as the bewildered crews registered that they were finally under fire. Overcoming their shock, the Shermans locked onto the Cromwell, which was now turning on the spot, and began to fire as they approached, shells ploughing divots into the terrain around the British tank. Roberts team began to beat a hasty retreat down the reverse of the hill, heading back along the road at a fair pace, not maximum speed, but a comfortable pace to keep ahead of their pursuers.

"This is Dog team," the commander of the lead Sherman in the group reported, "We have confirmed contact with an enemy tank at point 242, it's one of their Cromwells. We're going to pursue and knock it out."

Arisa, bewildered and incredibly irritated by the lack of information she was deriving from Wellesley's signals, could only caution the group of Shermans against rash action. The pigtailed girl had been a little less talkative than usual, something Kay chalked up to the girl's unfamiliarity with Wellesley and their modes of attack. Given the diversity of their team, and the fact that they'd had no prior contact with them, Kay's staff officer had little more than fairly standard advice to offer her team at present, as there were too many factors for her to offer detailed analysis. As such, Dog team took her comments under advisement, but stated that their advance would continue.

Back at the front, Dog team pushed on, leading their spearhead of M4s down the road in pursuit of the Cromwell, which had ducked back behind the ridge. Taking a gentle speed up the slope, so as to avoid running straight into any forces concealed the other side of the hill, the American tanks gave chase, spreading out into line abreast so as to maximise their firepower. At the top of the hill, seeing no opponents other than the retreating Cromwell, the Shermans let loose a salvo of rounds that hammered down all around the Wellesley team, and gave chase again.

"They're really goin' for it," Adam remarked, his foot hard to the floor as he urged the tank onwards.

"I wouldn't expect any less from these guys," Alex replied, slamming a shell into the 6pdr, "They seemed pretty gung-ho when we were talking to them earlier. Anyway, as we calculated when we looked at the ballistics models from our practice, the likelihood of them hitting us is pretty low, even with the crude stabilisation the Sherman had."

"If you zigzag a little too, their shot dispersion will be even higher," Lauren added, doing her best to cushion herself against the wild bouncing of the Cromwell's suspension as it raced across the flatland. She promptly regretted suggesting the manoeuvre to her teammate as soon as he deployed it, narrowly avoiding a serious whack to the head as Adam veered left abruptly.

Concealed behind the thick hedgerows, Campbell and Montgomery team waited for their foes to pass them on tenterhooks. The sounds of shellfire carrying to them from such a short distance left the tension written on the faces of the ten cadets manning the ambush tanks. Both tanks were silent at this point, as Pearce, despite the likelihood the Saunders cadets would miss the growling of the Chaffee and the Tiger amidst the noise of battle, had ordered that the teams cut their engines whilst waiting. Watching the gap in the hedgerow for Roberts team to come crashing past, Pearce found himself gripping the edge of the turret cupola in anticipation. Seeing the Cromwell go whizzing by, returning inaccurate fire as it went, both teams waited for the tall silhouettes of the Shermans to come rolling past before turning on their engines and letting out a collectively held in breath.

"Engage." Pearce broadcast to his fellow tankers.

Hearing the one word with absolute horror was Arisa, as she drew the worst possible conclusions from the command and immediately hollered, "It's a trap! Dog team, get your troops out of there!" straight into the radio receiver.

The response of the girls in charge of Dog Team, a confident looking girl with long brown hair, was little more than a startled 'Huh?' before she peered out of the back of her M4's turret and saw the reason for Arisa's outburst, as two of Wellesley's tanks rolled out from the greenery on the east side of the road, not 500m away from them. Montgomery and Campbell teams halted and fired a salvo that fortunately whistled past the Shermans, but came close enough to cause distinct discomfort to the Saunders teams. Deciding to press onward, as the road back south was now clearly blocked, the Saunders battlegroup kept rolling, although Fox Team turned its turret to return fire on their ambushers, with one round skittering off the front plate of the Tiger.

"Hey Sam, they're scratching your paintwork," Andrew said amusedly, as he slid another shell into the gun's receiver. Choosing to ignore the remark, causing Andrew to hang his head in mock-shame, Pearce instead addressed his gunner, who was peering through the gun sights, adjusting the lay of the powerful cannon.

"Liam, have you lined up the target?"

"Almost," came the drawled response, "Got 'em now."

"Fire!" Andrew shouted excitedly, prompting Jo to giggle at his childlike exuberance.

Receiving a disapproving look from Pearce for his presumption to authorise firing, Andrew nevertheless grinned as the tank shook with the report of the 88mm. True to Liam's calculations, the shot was well on target but rather than a clean hit, it hammered into the left side tracks on the Sherman of Easy Team, the rightmost M4 in the formation, slewing the tank round and shredding its running gear. Alexis picked the stricken tank off with the gun of the Chaffee, which was using the ominous bulk of the Tiger to partially conceal itself.

"Nice shot Alexis," Clark remarked, "See if you can pick off the next one too. I want to have the highest kill rate in our team today, so keep racking 'em up. Louise, keep those shells coming too."

Caught between three enemy tanks, the leader of Dog team wisely decided to retreat, telling her remaining teammates to head west, to link up with Kay's forces, which were still heading north, albeit more cautiously now. However, the two fleeing Shermans weren't out of trouble yet, as the now rallied Cromwell, along with the Tiger and the Chaffee, laid down a furious barrage of fire at their retreating foes. A shot from Campbell team churned the earth in front of Dog Team, prompting the tank to slew a little bit and lose some of its speed as it rolled, giving Liam the slight opening he needed to smash an 88mm round into the engine compartment of the stricken Sherman. Having remained still in order to maintain some semblance of accuracy, the Wellesley tanks fired a few more token shots at the fleeing tank of Fox Team, but otherwise were now out of range to knock out the third Sherman. Regardless, Pearce took satisfaction from the fact that two of the enemy tanks were now disabled, with his team now one vehicle ahead numerically, and that the ambush had gone without a hitch. Somehow, he doubted the rest of the match would go quite the same way. Nevertheless, in the first engagement of the match, Wellesley had come out victorious, with Saunders now on a clear back foot.

**The Spectator's Area – 1010hrs**

Hart watched the ambush with a smile quirking the edge of his mouth, an emotion that evidently wasn't quite shared with the rest of the crowd, with the vast majority of them going quiet very quickly. It seemed that Saunders had displayed a great deal of confidence in trying to deal with Wellesley, which had backfired upon them poorly in this instance. However, noticing the speed of the Saunders recovery, and their decision to get out of a dangerous situation, it seemed like they had a fair amount of experience to back up that zeal. Seeing that his students on the right flank of the Wellesley line were about to engage, Hart relaxed back into his seat so he could assess his other students' performance.

**The Battlefield**

Seeking to avoid the maze of hedgerows and fields that they had found themselves in, Simon had led his teams further west, leaving a dangerous gap between Wellesley's elements as the right flank sought to extricate itself from the labyrinthine fields in the path of their original advance. The direct route that the tanks had taken was enclosed on both sides by the tall hedges, about 200m either side, but with good fields of view up until a tall hill in the distance giving way to more rolling terrain. Spearheading the advance, and forcing the tanks to maintain a slow pace, was the Churchill, whose slow speed did not particularly endear the tank to its crew or teammates.

Covering the left flank was the Cromwell of Clinton team, who were somewhat tense that they were on the flank most likely to come under enemy attack. The turret of their Cromwell could be seen scanning back and forth relentlessly, and Katherine was visually sweeping everything she possibly could, straining to catch a glimpse of the enemy. Hanging back slightly to provide fire support, Hobart team composed both the right flank of the advance and the mobile reserve for the team, trying to make sure that their vulnerable left and rear were covered adequately whilst still maintaining formation.

Opening his turret hatch both to observe the field and let some air into the tank, Elliot shaded his eyes from what was now becoming some harsh light. The clattering of tracks filled the morning air with a sense of urgency on what would otherwise have been a nice day to just stretch out in the sun and sleep, something Elliot wistfully reflected on. Snapping back to the present, Elliot felt a tug on the leg of his pants as Sarah offered him a canteen of water. Thanking her, Elliot took a long swig from the canteen before re-securing the stopper and passing it back to his loader. Glancing back to the horizon, Elliot spotted a green shape roll over the crest of the hill, accompanied seconds later by an identical silhouette.

"Fuck."

Clambering back down into the turret, he was about to report enemy contact over the radio but was beaten to it by the report of the Sherman's gun, followed by the sound of the round digging up a load of earth near Marlborough team.

"Lucy, get the gun aimed at the Shermans, straight ahead. Sarah, get her loaded."

Elliot refrained from issuing any further orders to the rest of his team, as he awaited instructions from Simon as to what to do. Fortunately he wasn't kept waiting long, as desultory fire began to be exchanged between the M4s and the Wellesley teams.

"Teams, we're going to pull into the fields on the left flank and assail the enemy from a different point. We could take these Shermans, but we should seek more advantageous terrain before we do so. This position is too open for my liking," Simon relayed to his communicator.

"Understood," Katherine and Elliot returned.

"The Churchill will provide the rear guard here. Clinton team will lead, with Hobart in support. Move out."

"Why are we retreating from this position? I get that its open, but the Shermans are barely even in effective range to fight our Cromwell, let alone this bulky bastard," Chloe said, referring to the Churchill. "We could clean them up no problem."

Simon looked at his gunner. "You were listening over the radio to what Pearce just did to their other flank. If we pursue them here, we might also be drawn into an ambush."

"But couldn't you be overthinking it?"

"Saunders usually operates in three-tank groups when it can't throw more numbers around. That means there is likely one more tank prowling around out there, and we haven't seen any of their hard-hitting Shermans yet, so this just reeks of an ambush."

Chloe responded with a derisive snort. "I still think you're getting your panties in a twist over nothing."

Irrespective of Chloe's disapproval, Simon's orders began to be followed as the Wellesley tanks peeled off for the closest gap in the tall hedges on their left flank. A couple of rounds ricocheted off the thick plating of both the Comet and the Churchill as they ground towards the opening, returning fire as they did so. Clinton team reached the narrow opening first, as planned by their team, and was beginning to coast round the corner when Katherine caught sight of a dark green shape at the other edge of the field.

"Sean, backwards now!"

A thunderous crash filled the air, accompanied by temporary blindness for the crew of the Cromwell. However, that wasn't the worst of their issues, as the heavy shell of their ambushers hammered into the front plate of their tank, disabling it. The surrender flag popped out of the Cromwell's top hatch shortly after.

"Clinton team reporting disabled."

The loud crash of the round being delivered caught the rest of Wellesley's right flank by surprise, and their tanks ground to a halt in the face of this new threat. Having a similar weapon mounted on his tank, Elliot caught the particular noise of the weapon's firing.

"That's a 17-pdr. We've found their Sherman Firefly."

In the turret of the aforementioned vehicle, the team were jubilant at claiming the first kill of the day for their team.

"Alisa was spot on when she said to await part of their team here," the Firefly's loader commented, "That dense section of the field always gets 'em."

"Yeah," Naomi replied, "Let's just go rack the rest of them up now."

The Firefly began grumbling down the field to support its colleagues, coming to an abrupt stop as the driver came to a sudden realisation.

"The Cromwell's in the way. There's no way through."

"Fine then," Naomi said, irritated, "Turn us round and find another way through. We need to cut these guys off."

As the Firefly trundled off in search of another path, Simon took a hurried decision. Knowing that the tanks that were left were unlikely to be damaged by the relatively weak 75mm guns of the M4s that still confronted them, he ordered an attack, hoping that they could break out of this bad situation fairly quickly.

"If we take them out here, we only have to hunt down the Firefly and then we can link up with the others. We can also push through them and then re-engage at a more advantageous position."

"Alternatively," Nathan said pessimistically, "The Firefly's going to get round our flank and it's all going to end up like the Battle of Formigny, with us taking the part of the English."

Realigning themselves to face the M4s, who were advancing and still lobbing shells at the two Wellesley teams, Simon ordered the tanks forward to confront the enemy tanks at closer range. Firing as they went, the cadets rolled towards the enemy teams, exchanging fire. The Shermans began to sweep out in a wide arc hoping to get round the sides and rear of the more resilient Wellesley tanks, counting on their mobility to enable them to flank the cadet teams. One of them however, sputtered to a halt just as they were about to pass Marlborough team's Churchill, as Chloe had put a 6pdr round straight into the vehicle's side.

"Well, that's one," Chloe muttered, swinging the cumbersome turret round to aim at the next Sherman, which had just ricocheted a round off the thick gun mantlet of the Comet.

The two Wellesley tanks kept rolling towards the hill even as the M4 began to follow them from behind, desultory fire being exchanged as they went. Accelerating away from their foe, the Comet of Hobart team ascended the hill quickly before pivoting on its axis to return fire on their erstwhile tormenters. The Sherman backed off away from the Churchill, but not before slamming a round into its left tread, stranding the lumbering tank at the foot of the hill. Before it could do any more damage however, Lucy picked the reversing Sherman off, neat as you place, with the 77mm of Hobart's A34.

"Well, we got 'em, but we can't go anywhere with a snapped track," Simon assessed, "We're going to have to replace it quickly."

Cutting into the radio net and addressing Hobart team, Simon decided it would be best for Wellesley team to cut its losses, expressing it as best he could via their coding system. "Elliot, get your crate out of here. We're too open out here, and you'll just get picked off trying to cover us. Go join the rest of the team; we'll catch up if we can."

Elliot was about to protest, but clammed up at the tone Simon used. "Affimative," he responded, directing Isaac to begin pulling the Comet back towards the main Wellesley force. The crew looked quizzically at Elliot as they disappeared into the hedgerows, heading north and east. Once he was out sight though, the engineer captain said "That's far enough Isaac. Turn us around." The outspoken driver's happy grin was more than an adequate response, as the Cruiser tank whipped round on the spot and began trundling back towards their stricken teammates.

**In the Spectator Stands – 1020hrs**

"My my, it seems it was the turn of Wellesley to be ambushed there, wasn't it?" Darjeeling spoke, a mild undercurrent of amusement tinging her elegant tone.

"Saunders have always been good at predicting where their opponents are going to be, especially on home turf," Pekoe replied, "But their vehicles, despite their quantity, simply aren't as resilient as the ones their opponents are fielding, and without the numerical advantage that the later rounds give them, they aren't as much of a threat."

"An astute observation my dear," Darjeeling commented, finding it highly amusing that her subordinate turned red at the praise. "I fear without clear knowledge of their foe and without a mass advantage of tanks, Saunders will have a hard time if they stick to their usual strategies. Kay has always enjoyed head-on battles."

**Back at the Front – Western Flank**

Having watched the Comet depart their ally a minute before, Naomi determined it was time to strike. She had underestimated the amount of time it took to find an alternate way around the ruined Cromwell, and as a result had appeared just before the loss of her second M4. Retreating into the bushes to observe the enemy, Naomi observed the leaving of the Churchill, and now decided to go in for the kill before Marlborough team got back in the fight.

Lining up the gun carefully, Naomi decided to finish the wounded beast off for good. A thunderous roar echoed across the relatively quiet grassland as the Firefly ended the beleaguered Churchill. Blinking the flash blindness out of their eyes, Naomi's crew headed off to support Kay, unaware that they had been spotted.

Watching the Firefly disable their damaged teammates, but slightly too slow to get their 17pdr aimed, Hobart team set off to track down Saunders' sniper.

**Near the Saunders deployment zone**

Hearing from her teammate that they had taken out two of Wellesley's tanks for two of their own, Alisa was of mixed feelings. Sure it depleted Wellesley's numbers to seven, but it equally left Saunders with only five tanks in the field, and her flag tank still in hiding. This news, as it was not of a crushing victory, failed to raise the pig-tailed girl's spirits, or dispel her irritation. Alisa was still making no progress at tapping the Wellesley communications network, as she was confronted either by relatively unintelligible code, or by stony silence, and to make matters worse, she had to keep switching network to pick up their unit chatter.

"Ugh! Why were they prepared for this?" Alisa shouted. "Who do these Brits think they are!?"

"Well, they are a military school," her long-suffering loader shot back, glad she currently wasn't having to root around for shells, "Surely they might have heard of this tactic before."

"Shut up! They're just a bunch of nobodies! Why don't they go back and fight in their European league anyway!"

"I'm pretty sure the European league is on hiatus," the Sherman's gunner replied.

"Shut up!"

When Alisa had sufficiently calmed down to continue doing her job, she had her radio op patch her through to Kay, who was not particularly pleased with the tactical situation.

"Well, we'll just have to make do," Kay sighed, "Just keep me posted if you think of anything.

"There're two options for you: to pull back and wait for the other two teams to reach you, but give Wellesley time to group up, or you can advance another kilometre and launch a more aggressive attack. We still haven't seen a third unit, so three of their tanks are still unaccounted for, but I would reckon they are advancing up the middle of the field as we speak, and with a Churchill with them, are probably at least three kilometres out. If you split your tanks and attack them on the flank, maybe with the help of Fox team, who are heading your way, you should be able to overwhelm them."

"That's a sound plan, and even better, it's got action in it! I haven't even seen the enemy let, so let's go chuck some lead at those Brits!" Kay exclaimed enthusiastically, "Anything else I should know before I go?"

"We have no intel on their eastern element, or the remaining tank from their western force. Fox Company and Naomi haven't reported any sightings, but be advised that they might be converging on you."

"So we've got to beat these guys before more of their friends arrive to finish us off? No problem," Kay said, before broadcasting to the entire team, "Right girls, let's go take out their centre before they know what's hit 'em!"

Buoyed by their leader's implacable spirit, the Saunders team set out to confront the middle element of Wellesley's line with renewed vigour, the furious clacking of the Sherman's treads in staccato rhythm making for a crescendo of sound as the day heated up further. Saunders were not going down without a fight.

**Wellesley Eastern Flank – 1040hrs**

"It looks like Saunders can put up a fight when they actually think about what they're doing," Pearce commented, having been informed of the loss of two of his team's tanks. "No matter, I have a fair idea of what our faux-American adversaries will do next. Would you care to take a guess?" the diminutive captain addressed Clark, whose tank was parked up next to this on a small ridge slightly to the south and west of their ambush point.

"They'll attack won't they? I'll be they'll want to show us their 'quality'," Clark replied, adding a derisive inflection to the word 'quality'.

"It does make some tactical sense. One way or another, we hold the advantage at the moment. In terms of both power and numbers, we have the lead over Saunders, and if they hesitate for too long, we could just unite into a massive unit and sweep over them," Pearce added a slightly hint of reproof to his response to the Campbell team leader, trying to play devil's advocate for Saunders.

"Yeah yeah. So what's our play Pearce?"

"We have a range of options. Our best ones are to either flank Saunders and overwhelm their main force and thus leave only their flag tank to be picked off, or we can search for their flag tank and try to end it that way."

"I vote for the one where we get to shoot at something," Andrew chirped up, leaning out of his hatch in the Tiger's turret to add his opinion to the conversation.

"You don't get a vote," Pearce shot back, "Not after your little usurpation of authority back there."

"I agree with him," Clark said, smirking a little, "He might be an irritating git, but he knows which choice will be the most entertaining." Andrew pouted at the insult, an entertaining thing to see on the face of someone who was essentially an adult.

Pearce sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up slightly.

"Fine, we'll engage Saunders on another front then. Stephen, get us going, we'll link up with Russell team and the others and end this at one major _schwerpunkt_ (critical point). Jo, inform our comrades of this intention."

"On it!" Jo replied cheerily from the depths of the Tiger.

Turning to Anna, who was busy preparing her team to move, Pearce addressed the Roberts team leader, "While we go to join up with the main force, I would like you to scout around the enemy's deployment zone. If their flag tank is doing what it did in the match they had with Oarai, you should be able to catch them off guard and end the match for us."

Anna nodded, her thick glasses and unreadable expression making it difficult for Pearce to tell what she was thinking. Shucking his coat and placing it reverently in the back part of the turret, Pearce smoothed his uniform out before ordering an advance. Roberts team maintained its course to the south, whilst the Tiger and Chaffee headed towards their teammates, and battle.

**In the Spectator Stands – Tea-00hrs**

"It looks like this match might end fairly soon," Pekoe commented "Almost all available troops on both teams are starting to converge on the middle ground.

"You might be right there. It seems Kay wants to try and force an engagement just like Wellesley do, but each side wants it to be on their own terms. It depends all on the timing, but I think this will be the last major engagement."

**The Wellesley Centre – 1050hrs**

"Jesus, it took forever to get through those bloody fields. Why do Saunders even have those hedges there, they just get in the damn way," Kieran complained, although the rest of his team felt the same way.

"Hey, we could have blitzed through in like half an hour and been here, but I would lay a safe bet that we'd have been caught on the hop by the enemy," Steven replied, "We're doing this by the book now, not charging in all gung-ho." 'Even if that's far more fun,' Hawke thought.

It had taken over an hour to fight their way through the confusing system of hedges in the middle, whilst at the same time covering their flanks. Hawke had been cautious in his movements, not wanting to let his team down, and recover some of their lost reputation due to Russell team's earlier mishaps. However, this had forced Wellesley's centre down to a relative crawl, and as a result, they were only just clearing the morass of difficult terrain, into a patch of relatively open, yet rolling terrain in the centre ground, slightly into the Saunders half of the battlefield. The team were rolling up a slope that interrupted their vision when they received Pearce's instructions to the team.

"Great, we took so long that everyone's coming here to back us up," Hawke grumbled as they crested the ridge, "Right guys, chances are the enemy's round here some-…"

The Russell team leader was cut off by the report of a shell whistling overheard, and peered out of his turret cupola to see a couple of M4s, which were now rolling forwards at a decent pace, firing as they went, bucking on their suspensions with the recoil force of their 75mm guns.

"Finally," David said enthusiastically, slamming a shell into the Cromwell's receiver, "Action!"

"Well, it's not going to be easy to go backwards," Steven admitted, "So let's go through them. Kieran, take us in closer, we need time to get the rest of our team up the hill, so zigzag around those M4s."

Accelerating in what appeared to be their former impetuous style, Russell team began to close the distance with their opponents, the nippy Cromwell eating up the ground as it rolled, returning fire with its 75mm 6pdr. The two M4s kept coming as well, halting at about 500 yards, making it seem like a point blank firefight was inevitable, but Hawke had other plans.

"Take us right between them!" he yelled, letting Kieran push the engine to full throttle and hammer it between the two advancing American tanks.

Sailing between the two tanks at top speed, engine whining as it was restricted by the speed governors, Russell team began to turn round to re-engage, as the Shermans pivoted, but only slightly, swinging their turrets into position to target the speedy Brit tank.

"Any time now," Hawke muttered, waiting for his teammates to crest the rise.

The sound of another 6pdr cracked out from the ridgeline as Allenby team's Churchill grumbled up and over the crest of the hill, swiftly followed by the appearance of Wavell team's Achilles, which was shadowing the Churchill to gain maximum cover from it. What confused the sporty cadets in Russell team was the lack of reaction from the Shermans confronting them. They maintained their aim at the Cromwell behind them, pointedly ignoring the two other tanks engaging them.

Their confusion was cleared up about a minute later by the sound of two more guns firing, this time coming from the east, with one of the rounds pinging off the thick side plating of the Churchill VII. One of the reports was deeper than the other, and when the cadets looked, it revealed Kay's M4A1 and the belated arrival of Fox Company to support their comrades, one of whom Wavell team took the opportunity to pick off whilst they remained unmoving.

**(US Field Artillery March)**

The remaining Sherman, still targeting Russell team, began to roll into action again, chasing after the Cromwell of the sporty lads, who were more than happy to oblige, zooming across the open field exchanging shells. The skirmish ended up looking more like a jousting contest as the two tanks began to make passes at each other, rounds whipping past their steeds' armour plate by hair's breadths.

"This is fucking awesome!" Kieran shouted, taking advantage of the Cromwell's neutral steering to bring his mount round before their counterparts could do the same.

"It would be if you didn't hit every bloody bump on the way!" Jake responded, shaking his fist at his speed-freak teammate. "I can't hit anything in you can't keep this crate level!"

Connor, sat at the radio, just shook his head and enjoyed the adrenaline rush of the tank careening across the grassland. He didn't get to enjoy it for too long though, as a couple of passes later, both tanks eliminated each other at point blank range, bringing the Cromwell to a screaming halt and sending it drifting slightly sideways with its momentum.

"We're out of it," Steven reported.

On the ridge, Wavell and Allenby teams were reacting to the sudden onslaught of the two new Saunders tanks from their left flank. Because of how slow the two cadet tanks were, Kay decided to take advantage of this and pressed her attack in close to try and take out the heavily armoured Churchill quickly. Weaving to maximise their protection against the quickly traversing turrets of their opponents, the two Shermans began a barrage of shells as they closed.

"Amy, get us some distance," Chris ordered, knowing that the Achilles, weighed down as it was with a 17pdr and counterweight, was both weak in armour and slow to react, and would not last long against the two American tanks up close.

The Achilles thus began accelerating quickly, trying to open the range to the point at which they could easily pick off Saunders' few remaining tanks without issue. However, this left Allenby team, dangerously exposed, and rushed as they were, the literature lovers whiffed their shot, sending it flying past Fox Company rather than through them.

"We've got ya now!" Kay shouted, jubilant as her tank whizzed past Allenby team to deliver a round straight into the rear of the tank, the 76mm gun of her ride proving more than enough to penetrate the vulnerable point on the cumbersome Mark VII.

"I'm starting to feel a little bit like Duncan to Saunders' Macbeth here," Liz said to her teammates.

"The Othello to their Iago," Liam replied.

"The Pompey to their Caesar?" Bethan suggested.

"That's it!" the rest of her team exclaimed.

Whilst the members of Allenby team threw literature references back and forth, Kay brought her mount around to face the remaining Wellesley tank in the area, jubilant in her initial victory. Her triumph was cut slightly short as Wavell team retaliated with a viciously accurate shot on her wingman team, smashing the M4 with devastating force and necessitating its surrender. Blinking the flash blindness out of her eyes and ordering her driver into a sweeping arc around the Achilles, Kay was stunned and somewhat amused to hear another report of a 17 pounder gun so quickly, only to see that this time it was the Achilles taking the heat, Kay glanced off to her right to see Naomi's Firefly rolling into the field, barrel smoking.

"Took ya long enough!" Kay teased cheekily.

"I was in time to save your butt," Naomi responded good-naturedly.

"Nah, I had everything under control," the Saunders captain giggled, only for her characteristic smile to vanish when she spotted a shape rolling up behind Naomi's tank. "Naomi, move, now! On your six!"

The Firefly began to grind as Naomi realised what Kay's shouted warning meant, but it was too late for the high schoolers, as Hobart team had them in their sights.

"Gotcha," Lucy said, abnormally cheerfully for someone who was in ordinary circumstances about to lob 17 pounds of armour-piercing death at her opponents, clamping down on the firing trigger.

The shot of the 77mm HV hammered out of the barrel, delivering unto Naomi the same high-velocity pain she had just unleashed on Wavell team. The Firefly rocked on its suspension and came to a grinding halt, the surrender flag popping out of the vehicle a moment later.

Now the sole tank left in the field for Saunders, Kay grit her teeth before grinning again. "I like a challenge," she said, before her tank began advancing on the Comet with intent, delivering heavy ordnance as they did so.

Seeing the Sherman moving to engage, Elliot couldn't resist grinning. "It's time to dance," he said, a happy smile on his face.

The Sherman and the Comet circled each other in the middle of the plain, not charging at each other as Russell team and their opponents had, but maintaining distance and firing off volley after volley at each other, ploughing the terrain around them into a crater-strewn mess. One of the M4A1's shots whizzed past the engineering cadets to impact the wreck of Allenby team's Churchill, interrupting their debate on the best works of Shakespeare. Stalemate ensued, the two tanks speeding up and slowing down to throw off the aim of their foes, and no hits being scored by either tank. Hobart team were however stirred out of their reverie by the sound of the radio crackling to life.

"Elliot, if you're finished playing with your opponents, would you mind finishing things? Or do I have to come and assist you?" Pearce asked, a sarcastic tinge to his query.

Looking around for the signs of their comrades, Hobart team spotted the unmistakeable bulk of the Tiger tank rolling in from the east, shadowed by Campbell team's Chaffee. Still circling, the engineers tried to end the combat quickly, but their shot was off by a fractional margin, giving their teammates time to end it properly. Kay's usual happy smile turned into one of resignation when she spotted the two Wellesley tanks moving in from reserve to finish the fight, and was vindicated soon after by the reports of those tanks, bringing her combat with Hobart team to a sputtering halt in the second volley, when an 88mm shell smacked straight into the hull plate.

"Right then, one left," Elliot stated with an audible release of held breath.

"Quite," Pearce replied, "I'm sure she's well aware that we're going to hunt her down too."

**Alisa's tank – 1120hrs**

The proclamation of Wellesley's team captain had reached Alisa's ears via the interception device with a brutal impact. The pigtailed girl now knew two things: that her opponents had predicted their radio interception, and that those same foes were now looking for her to end the match. The crew of the Sherman looked to Alisa, hopeful that she had some sort of plan to get them out of this mess. One tank against four, Alisa was worried. Actually, she was terrified. At least last term against Oarai, most of her team were still helping her whilst Oarai were chasing her down. Now, with no support forthcoming, and several vehicles now on the lookout for her, she was stressed.

"You know, I am willing to accept your surrender," the clipped, calm voice said over the radio.

"Shut up!" Alisa shouted back, ignoring the fact that her opponents couldn't hear her rantings on their radio channels. "We won't surrender to upstarts like you! Saunders are a strong team, with plenty of experience and pedigree behind them, we can't possible lose to a fresh team like yours."

"But you-you just have," a new voice stuttered over the radio. The person delivering the line obviously wasn't used to trash-talking, but she tried her best. Peering out of the top of her tank, Alisa noticed that there was a Cromwell sat about 100 yards away from the vehicle.

"How did you find us?" she asked, in total shock.

"You do ha-happen to have a balloon hovering over your general position you know," Anna shot back, before looking inside her turret. "Fire Ellie."

Alisa saw the entire world slow down before her, seeing in minute detail the moment that the Cromwell blasted a 75mm round into her M4A1, the shot leaving the barrel in a perfect spiral and depositing itself in the hull of her vehicle. Alisa had to manually push her jaw shut as the radios of every team crackled into life.

"**Match, finished. Wellesley Royal Military Academy are victorious."**

**Chapter end.**

**Seriously, this chapter has taken me a month to work on, so I would appreciate some comments and constructive criticism (or really anything you want to say about the story thus far, even your favourite character, canon or otherwise). It's probably a bit rough edged (especially since I finished part of this when I definitely was not sober), and you can probably expect me to edit it at some point, but I hope you have enjoyed this battle, because I spent ages fretting over how it was going to turn out.**

**As a side note, I will give many plaudits to the person who can work out why I gave the teams the battles they received as codenames. One of them is far less straight forward than the others. If someone can also tell me what the battlefield is inspired by, they will receive further praise. Finally, I want to offer thanks to Severstal, for advice on writing this chapter and the GUP universe in general, and Theralion, for helping me overcome writer's block.**

**Now, I'm off to bed, because I'm tired and slightly drunk. Ja ne! **


	15. Chapter 15: War Is A Spectator Sport!

**Hey there, I'm Heretical Shinigami. This marks Chapter 15 of this story, and the wind-down after the match with Saunders. I'll be honest, I haven't been motivated to write recently, because I've had a lot of academic stress on my shoulders, but I'm going to keep rolling with it, so I would probably say monthly or sooner is my update aim (I know it's slow, but I do have other hobbies). Another thing I should point out is that I had no idea where to go with this chapter, so it might be a little lackluster, but my main aim is to try and develop the crew of the Tiger (I've done the captains, and their sort of team 'themes', so I thought that Wellesley's equivalent of Anglerfish needed doing).**

**I also keep getting derailed because I've read a few more romance-esque fanfics so I keep wondering if I can pair my characters. The answer is no, of course, because I couldn't write it if I tried, as just one of numerous reasons this story will most likely not see a pairing.**

**Knightwolfe also pointed out that I've failed to explain a couple o' things calibre-wise on the tanks. The Cromwell was fitted with a 6-pounder gun in its design, but due to the lack of a good HE shell for the existing calibre, the gun was drilled out to use American 75mm ammunition. I still call it a 6-pdr for convenience though, because an OQF 75mm is a less handy name. Similarly for convenience, the 76.2mm gun on the Comet and the Achilles is referred to both historically and in this fic as a 77mm, or a 17-pounder. **

**Theralion also thought Naomi was a little cheekier to Kay than she seems in the series. I agree, but I thought she seemed a little bland in the series due to limited screentime, so I went with what I thought would work.**

**AMV of the Chapter – Girls Und Panzer – Sweet Tankgirls AMV. Yes it is AC/DC. Yes it is awesome.**

**Monday 3****rd**** February – 1120hrs**

"**Match, finished. Wellesley Royal Military Academy is victorious." **The PA system boomed out the end to the confrontation with Saunders with definite finality.

Kay slouched down into her tank's turret as the tension in her unwound like an elastic band snapping. "Ah well," she said, "I guess it can't be helped."

Her gunner and loader both turned to her with sympathetic smiles, shrugging as they did so. The gunner, a girl with flame-red hair and green eyes, patted her on the shoulder. "We'll get 'em next time," she said.

Kay gave her crew a wry smile of gratitude, before punching her fist into the air, fortunately through the open hatch, and exclaiming, "We'll do better than that! We're gonna win the entire damn thing next time! You can count on it!"

The other four girls in the tank just glanced at each other with knowing grins. Their captain really was irrepressible, but that's why they liked her as captain. Kay perfectly fit with Saunders' never-say-die attitude, a cheerful and outspoken proponent of fair play and sportsmanship.

Just across from Kay's tank, Naomi's Firefly was being retrieved by the clean-up crews. The taller, more tomboy-like girl was happily leant back in her gunner's seat, chomping some bubble-gum as she did so. The rest of the crew had gone into the stowage bins and retrieved some cola, and were happily relaxing with their tank commander.

All across the field, the teams just kicked back in their seats like springs suddenly uncoiled, as the end of the match heralded a welcome rest for the now tired high-schoolers. Obviously there were a few exceptions to this rule. Alisa still hadn't quite regained motor control skills over her jaw, and was sitting aghast, glaring at the crew of Roberts team, who had taken the opportunity to throw the hatches on their ride open and enjoy the gentle sunshine filtering through the greenery surrounding them.

A few other students were also restive, or at least hadn't shown any signs of relaxing quite yet. Clark and Pearce were still stood up in their respective cupolas, seemingly on alert, but it was more that their bodies hadn't quite caught up to their minds, which were probably still processing the fact of victory. At length, the pair looked at each other, nodded, and ordered their crews to prepare to return to camp. Pearce deliberately broadcast it through the internal radio to make sure Liam didn't try to drop off to sleep before they returned to the carrier. Knowing that Stephen wouldn't speed back, Pearce got himself into a comfortable position and relaxed, admiring the beautiful scenery punctuated by the distinctive mark of shell craters, before smiling to himself. The day hadn't been bad thus far. As the 54-ton beast rumbled past Wavell team's disabled vehicle, he got a cheery wave from Chris, who was lounging around on top of the Achilles, and Pearce returned the greeting with a nod. Allowing himself to slouch a little in his stance and leaning back on the cupola, Pearce began to filter out the roll of the vehicle under him and wind down.

By this point, Wellesley's surviving vehicles, all four of them, had rallied on the edge of town and proceeded along the streets in a clatter of treads. Now that it was getting towards midday and the sun was nearly at its zenith, the temperature inside the tanks was not exactly pleasant, and all of the cadet crews had loosened their uniforms and popped all the crew hatches wide open to make the most of any breeze passing them by. Noting the distinct impracticality of the cadet uniforms, Pearce resolved to talk to Hart as soon as possible about getting better suited ones, or at least environment variants. The relatively thick weave of the Wellesley uniform was more intended for the breezy and oft raining European climes, not the virtually tropical weather that it seemed to be today or, God forbid, a match in the desert. Even the stubborn Clark, who would never be seen dead outside of immaculate uniform (during term time), had opened her top button, and was taking full advantage of the commanding position on top of the Chaffee to catch the breeze. Anna and her team had all shed their ubiquitous lab coats too, albeit reluctantly, as if part of their identities were tied up in the garments. Estimating that they had another 15 minutes before they reached the harbour, the teams just enjoyed the sunshine, and the refreshing breeze rolling down the main road from the port.

**Spectator Stands – 1120hrs**

Hearing the victory announcement across the stands, and seeing the final victory graphic slide across the giant screen, Pekoe finished the last of her tea before turning to her superior.

"It looks like Saunders has failed to stand against the new competitors, even on home turf."

"It was relatively close though. Saunders obviously had the experience advantage, and favourable terrain to operate in, but in the end, Wellesley's superior materiel advantage defeated them," Darjeeling replied.

"They even answered Alisa's radio interception device."

"Indeed, they seem to have prepared well for this engagement, perhaps following this adage: 'the whole art of war consists of guessing what lies on the other side of the hill.'" Darjeeling quoted.

"That's a quote from The Duke of Wellington," Pekoe said, busying herself with folding up their picnic gear whilst Darjeeling continued sipping her beverage.

"Also known as Sir Arthur Wellesley, the school's namesake," the blonde added, "Perhaps they are taking his teachings to heart."

As Darjeeling polished off her tea, Pekoe continued putting away all of the gear they had brought with them, but as she was packing Darjeeling's chair away, she had to ask the question that was on her mind.

"Erm, Captain. Might I ask who you wanted to win this match?" the petite girl asked nervously, catching the St Gloriana captain off guard, who to her credit recovered quickly.

"I suppose if I am honest, I should say that I wished for Saunders to come out the victors in this battle. Whilst the Wellesley team seem nice enough, from our brief encounter with them it seems they don't understand what tankery truly is, most likely due to their more military training. It will be interesting, given that they are progressing in the competition, to see if that viewpoint changes."

"Perhaps more contact with some of the veteran teams might give them a new attitude to the sport," Pekoe commented, as she folded the last of the chairs up and placed it, along with the rest of the gear, in the back of their vehicle.

"I hope so," Darjeeling responded, "The more people that recognise tankery as a sport, and not as conflict all its own, the better."

**The Docks – 1220hrs**

Waiting at the docks for the battered wrecks of part of their team, the Wellesley cadets had taken the time to bask in the sunlight, or banter amongst their friends. Roberts team, accompanied by Stephen and Liam, had vanished in search of a café, both to avoid the glorious sunshine and to acquire refreshments, whilst Campbell team were gossiping, sat or laid across the hull of their Chaffee. Hobart team were busily fretting over their own steed whilst they waited for the real work of the day to be dragged in by the recovery vehicles.

"Boss, it looks like the drive sprocket has chucked a few teeth. We're gonna have to replace that later if we want this crate rolling as fast as it can," Isaac commented, glaring at the right-side drive array.

"I'll add it to the list, low priority of course," Elliot replied, sitting on the roof of the Comet with a clipboard and pen. He added another minor detail to the low priority section, tracking down the page past the 'high priority' repairs list, which simply had 'Russell team' right at the top, an addition which had obviously been there for some time. After a quick scan of his list, Elliot picked himself up off the cruiser tank and hopped onto the concrete, walking over to the nearest adjacent tank. "Hey, Sam," he said, getting the attention of the diminutive cadet, who was sat against the Tiger's gun mantlet, thumbing through a book. The other members of Montgomery team still present were also perched on the spacious hull of the Tiger. Seems like that flat armour plate had some uses after all.

Putting his index finger into his current page and holding the book shut with one hand, Pearce's gaze locked onto Elliot, the usual neutral expression in place. "Can I help you?"

"I'm compiling a list of issues to fix once we re-embark so we don't have to spend forever checking all the tanks over back in the garage, so are there particular problems that need addressing with the Tiger?"

"It's quite impressive to see you being so prepared Mr Jones, but to answer your question, I don't believe there are any glaring issues that require fixing immediately. We were not overly exposed to enemy fire during the match."

"That's good to hear, less work for us to do," Elliot finished with a grin, and was about to turn on his heel and walk off when Pearce stopped him.

"Is there anything else I can assist you with?" Pearce asked, a remark which surprised Elliot. Usually the Wellesley captain left everyone to do their expected duties and only intervened when he thought it necessary.

"Er, well if you could ask Captain Hart on whether I'm allowed to remove the speed governors on the Cromwells, it would be a great help."

"Understood. Also, if it is not too much trouble, I would be much obliged if at some point you could explain the mechanical aspects of this machine," Pearce indicated the Tiger, "as I would like to understand its workings better."

"Of course, that'll be no problem," Elliot affirmed, before leaving Sam to his reading.

Pearce reopened his book to the correct page, no.108, detailing the French drive on Soissons in the later stages of World War One, and had located the correct line to continue reading when, inevitably, someone interrupted him.

"Hey Sam, what're ya reading there?" a voice called from behind him.

"I am reading _Achtung Panzer!_ Andrew, a book that espouses the theory of tank warfare, and how armour should be deployed," Pearce replied dryly.

"Who wrote it?" the tall cadet enquired, clambering onto the Tiger's upper hull to stand next to his team leader.

"The German General Heinz Guderian, a man considered to be one of the fathers of the blitzkrieg theory of warfare. We covered him a little last term if you remember, but mostly as a footnote to men like Fuller, as our government's rather nationalist take on the curriculum has affected even our school." Pearce said the last part with a little scorn in his voice.

"I assume he has some good ideas in that book then," Andrew said, perching himself on the rim of the turret. "I mean if he helped create blitzkrieg with the concepts in that book, he must be pretty smart."

"Quite. Luckily for you Andrew, Guderian was a master not only at his craft, but at simplicity. Some of his sayings, while profane, are also simultaneously quite profound. For example, he once said that you hit an enemy with your fist closed, not your fingers spread."

"Well yeah, you wouldn't hit someone with your fingers fanned out because it'd have no striking power…" Andrew trailed off, before his face lit up in recognition "Oh! I see! He was emphasising assault concentration rather than dispersal of forces."

"There you are, now you can see the blend of intelligence and pragmatic simplicity that Guderian brought to the table. It's really quite extraordinary, isn't it? I just wish Sun Tzu had quite the same approach in his treatises." Pearce said, a hint of a smile on his face.

"I really hated when we looked at him in class. He talked in abstractions and vague ideas, some of which seemed little more than common sense."

Putting an actual bookmark into his book, and perching next to his loader on the turret rim, the bespectacled captain addressed his cohort. "The interesting thing about military strategy, as far as I can see, is that it mostly is common sense, leavened with a good understanding of both your own capabilities, and the enemy's."

"Is that what he meant when he said 'know yourself '? That you need a grasp of the forces available to you, and what you can do?"

Pearce nodded at the taller cadet, before patting him on the shoulder and donning his coat. "Sun Tzu's not just military advice, Mr Roberts," Pearce said as he hopped off the Tiger's hull and began striding off, "It's life advice."

Andrew watched as his classmate walked across the dock to the recovery vehicle which had just arrived, which had two Shermans and the Cromwell of Russell team loaded onto it. More importantly, dismounting from the massive vehicle was Kay, accompanied by her subordinates. Andrew quickly hurried over to stand next to Pearce, accompanied by Elliot, who sidled over with an interested look on his face. As soon as Kay caught sight of the Wellesley crews, she scanned across them until she spotted the long coat and indifferent expression of Pearce, who on meeting her gaze attempted to look courteously pleased to see her. The blonde-haired girl waved at Pearce as she wandered over to him, receiving a nod of greeting in return.

"Hey Sam! I wanted to say congratulations on your team's win here. You really gave us a challenge today, and it was a ton of fun. It's nice to see some new faces, ya know, maybe going to rock the boat a little, like Oarai did last term, cos it was getting a little stale in the league before we got some new challengers."

"We are indeed hoping to make some waves in this tournament Miss Kay. In fact we plan to win it all," Pearce replied, "I would also like to thank you for offering an entertaining match for us. Certainly, it's clear your crews have no shortage of experience and enthusiasm, particularly your sniper, if my comrade Elliot is to be believed." Pearce indicated the engineer next to him. The cadet's words caught Naomi's attention, and she winked at Elliot, who in turn turned a bright red and developed a sudden interest in his bootlaces.

"We like to think that tankery is a pretty cool sport at Saunders, and we have no shortage of adventurous girls taking it up, that's for sure," Kay confirmed, "We actually pride ourselves on having a large fleet of tanks, because it allows more students to take part rather than just a select few."

"That's quite admirable. Our own fleet is not quite as extensive, as we have to share with the seniors as well as maintain more modern military equipment on our budget, and the government is not exactly forthcoming with funds to expand."

"Well that's just a shame," the Saunders captain replied, "But still impressive to balance on all that and bring a team like yours to the tourney."

Pearce gave Kay what could be approximated as a smile, if a slight upturn of the lips was anything to go by. "That's very kind of you to say. I hope that we can maintain your high opinion of our team throughout the tournament. One question before you leave however; have you any advice on who we're going to face next?"

"Well, we're in bracket 3 right? So the next bracket to ours has Scharnhorst, one of your counterparts, and Pravda High in it. I assume you already known about Scharnhorst and their style, so I'll just give you this piece of advice about Pravda: don't underestimate their captain. She's immature, but don't let her childish behaviour deceive you, she's in charge for a reason," Kay warned.

Pearce nodded. "Thank you for both a good match and your useful advice," he said, proffering a hand to the blonde-haired girl, who grasped it firmly and shook it. Just as Kay and her retinue turned to leave however, Elliot's voice stopped them in their tracks.

"Erm, if it's not too much trouble, can I get a closer look at that radio device you used during the match? I'd love to get to grips with its internal workings," the brown-haired engineer asked nervously.

The silent tension that settled over the Saunders group was so dense it could have been used as armour plate. Alisa was wearing an expression that tried to be a combination of sheer loathing, directed at Elliot, and pure terror. It rapidly became more of the latter as Kay put her hand on Alisa's shoulder and directed an incredibly over-sweet smile at the Wellesley cadets.

"Oh I'm sure Alisa would love to let you guys have a look at her favourite toy, right Alisa?"

It was hard not to sense the distinct anger in Kay's voice as she spoke, and the Wellesley cadets looked at each other a little confused.

"It was actually quite interesting to see another team use interception equipment," Andrew interjected, "It gave us the chance to practice our communications discipline and use radio silence like we've been trained to."

"Andrew's quite right," Pearce added, "I would probably hazard that Alisa's use of radio tapping more likely hampered your team that helped it, since she squandered an obvious talent for coordination, given her particular deployment in a command tank, in favour of ineffectually intercepting our communications."

Some of Kay's irritation bled away at the interjection of the cadets, who evidently weren't irritated by the use of intelligence equipment in a match, but she was still somewhat agitated by both Alisa's deliberate disobeying of her orders to not use it again, and by the implied unfairness of such a tactic.

"But if you weren't prepared for it like you were, we'd have had an unfair advantage over you," Kay protested weakly.

"Fortunately we were though," the Wellesley captain replied, "Whilst you might consider Alisa's conduct perhaps unsporting, she was utilising the resources available to her, admittedly to little effect, but still her dedication to the pursuit of victory is arguably quite impressive."

Kay frowned at the last part of her opposite number's sentence. The whole 'pursuit of victory' thing sounded like something that Maho, or more likely her mother, would say, and it left a foul taste in the blonde's mouth.

"I see," Kay said. "Well I can't exactly reprimand Alisa given that you don't seem to mind what she did, but I still don't like it. I don't think intercepting communications and sneaking around is in the spirit of tankery. Tankery is about clashing spirits and enjoying the sport together, not pursuing victory at all costs."

As another recovery vehicle brought more wrecks to the dockside, Pearce ran a hand through his hair as he thought over a reply, mindful of how he hadn't left the best impression with Darjeeling when talking about the same topic. "You'll have to forgive us for approaching it a little differently. We're too used to a very serious attitude due to our school, as they want us to be better prepared for active duty, and I think some of that has filtered into our tankery class."

"But why do tankery then?" Kay asked, evidently slightly confused by their use of tankery as a class.

"I must confess I've never asked. I would assume it is to give us 'field experience' in a safer environment, but even then it makes no sense to use old equipment." The Wellesley cadets looked at each other in bewilderment, all equally lost. They simply hadn't considered why their instructors had set them to tankery.

"Eh, never mind," Kay told the three cadets, "I'm gonna have to go and start organising my team. Thanks for a great match!" The two groups were turning to leave when Kay hollered back, "Oh yeah! Pearce! Lighten up! Tankery is supposed to be fun!" The person she was addressing gave her a curt nod before continuing to walk away. Andrew gave his friend a look as they walked off and was about to open his mouth, but was cut off by Pearce.

"If you dare to tell me that she was right, or say anything suggestive, you'll be scrubbing the tanks with a toothbrush for the next three weeks."

Andrew clamped his mouth shut quickly.

"Hey, Sam! I saw you chatting up that Saunders chick Kay," Chris called out to the unemotional cadet, the former sat on his battered ride, having arrived about two minutes prior courtesy of the retrieval crews. "So when's the first date?" When Pearce merely raised an eyebrow, Andrew looked outraged.

"You told me that if I said something like that I'd be scrubbing the tanks! No fair!" the loader whinged.

"The difference lies in the fact that you should know better, while Chris does know better, he just says things like this anyway, and I don't really have the means to stop him. Even if I did try and punish him he'd just carry on," Pearce lamented, while Taylor just gave the others a cheeky grin.

"See Amy?" Chris addressed his driver, who was sat next to him on the Achilles, "How can you call me lazy all the time when Sam just praised my perseverance?"

"That isn't what he meant at all you idiot!" Amy yelled, smacking the lazy captain round the head. "He means you're a constant irritant he can't get rid of!"

"Nah, there's no way I'm irritating at all!" the Achilles commander proclaimed, earning himself another whack from his hot-headed subordinate.

Pearce shook his head and continued walking back towards his tank, calling back to Elliot, "I'm leaving you in command for the time being. Supervise the reloading if you don't mind, as I am going to find some form of refreshment."

Stopping just in front of no.131, Pearce looked up at his radio operator, who was sat, with a sketchpad and a pencil, a look of concentration etched onto her face.

"Joanna?"

"Yes?" the petite girl responded, looking up from her drawing and sweeping a stray lock of hair back out of the way.

"I am going to avail myself of something to drink. Would you care to join me?" The question was asked in an almost hesitant manner.

Jo merely smiled brightly and put her sketch pad aside. "Of course!" She hopped off the tank and fell into step with Pearce, as the pair strolled off along the docks.

Fortunately for them, the dockside area was littered with cafes, so it took very little time to find one that served ice cream (at Jo's insistence), and possessed an outdoor seating area, allowing the duo to take full advantage of the nice weather. Pearce plumped for a large glass of cola, whilst his counterpart picked a sundae, smothered liberally with sauce. As they sat down under the awning of the café, Sam decided to sate his curiosity.

"What were you sketching earlier?" he asked, intrigued. He had noticed that she usually carried a pad of paper around with her, but had never actually seen what was created upon those pages.

Pearce's question caught Jo mid-mouthful, and what followed was a muffled 'Huh?' as her focus shifted up from the sundae in front of her. Mopping a little bit of the chocolate sauce from round her mouth, Jo answered the question with "Well, I was just hashing out an outline for a character called Onizuka, from the series _Great Teacher Onizuka._ I don't know if you've heard of it, but he's basically a delinquent that ends up becoming a teacher, and he switches between being childish and silly to inspirational at the drop of a hat."

"Sounds like quite an interesting series. I'll have to add it to the list of things that I should try at some point." Noticing Jo's quizzical expression, Pearce elaborated. "Chris compiled it for me initially, giving me loads of suggestions of things to try, from series to drinks, but eventually I just started adding to it myself."

"I'd love to suggest some things for you to try at some point, if you don't mind."

"I'd like that." Sam gave his friend a wry smile, before his gaze wandered off into the distance.

The pair settled into a comfortable silence, enjoying the pleasant view and nice weather, tempered by a refreshing breeze that made the awning above them sway slowly. They stayed this way for a short while, until Pearce spoke once more.

"Thank you Joanna." Pearce said abruptly. When the girl gave him a confused look, he elaborated. "You've put up with me for so long, been so supportive, and I've given you nothing in return. I don't understand why you're still so friendly to me, but I owe you a great deal."

The brown-haired lass gave him a sympathetic smile, and put an arm round his shoulder. "Hey, it's what friends do. Anyway," she grinned mischievously, "I put up with you because I know you're a big softy under that fake stoic disposition of yours."

Pearce's eye twitched a little at Jo's statement, and he gave her a look insinuating that she might want to reword the statement.

"Fine, you're not quite the emotionless workaholic everybody thinks you are. Is that better?"

Pearce nodded, before giving the female cadet a fake harsh look. "Don't go telling anyone else that though. It would ruin my reputation, and I would have to reprimand you for malicious spreading of disinformation."

Jo pouted. "You wouldn't be that mean would you?"

"Don't tempt me."

As she polished off the last of her sundae, Montgomery team's radio operator smiled wryly at her counterpart, who was watching the last of Saunders' tanks arrive a way down the docks. It was rare to see the Wellesley commander this relaxed, his usual impassive expression had given way to one of greater relaxation, if not quite a content smile. She just wished he was a little more open around other people too, and didn't really understand why it was that Pearce only seemed this genuine around her, as it wasn't as if some of the other cadets weren't pleasant. Of course she didn't realise that Pearce was open around Jo because she didn't have a bad bone in her body, and as such he could be confident that his trust wasn't misplaced. Out of all the cadets the petite brunette was by far one of the most transparent, and was wholly genuine with people. She wore her heart on her sleeve and that was something Pearce appreciated, as guarded as he was.

The pair enjoyed the tranquil setting for a short while longer, until Pearce looked at his watch and discerned that they should be heading back to their team about now. "Shall we?" he asked.

"Of course."

The duo meandered back along the dock to reach their crews, who were now all assembled and prepared to return home. By now, six of the tanks had been loaded, with Hobart team feverishly fretting over the last few to find out what work needed to be done on them once they had been returned to the garage.

The first person to notice Jo and Sam returning was Andrew, who sprouted a mischievous grin as he sidled over to them.

"We were wondering where you'd gone. Got to thinking you might be up to something," he said, his expression adding additional meaning to his words. Jo went a shade of crimson in embarrassment, whilst Pearce scowled at the implication.

"I believe I told you we were going to get refreshments, so I'd advise you keep your opinions to yourself." Seeing that Andrew's words had made his friend uncomfortable, Pearce injected a fair amount of irritation into his voice.

"Geez, I was just joking. Lighten up Sam."

"Perhaps if you'd said something actually amusing I might have," came the aggravated reply.

As the pair returned to the main group, the other captains came walking over to meet Pearce, accompanied by Hart, who smiled at the lad in the trenchcoat.

"I was just telling the others how well you've all done for your first time out. We can save the critique for tomorrow I think, because I doubt you've all got the energy to do training or planning today." Whistling to draw the attention of the entire team, Hart addressed the assembled cadets. "You guys can have the rest of your day to yourselves, you've earned it. However, if you've not had enough of tanks for today, I asked the headmaster for use of one of the large common rooms, and we can watch the highlights of the five other matches that've happened thus far, as well as the one this afternoon, since they've started televising more of them this term. Who wants to watch the matches?"

About half of the cadets raised their hands, including five of the captains. Unsurprisingly, none of Hobart team put their hands up, as they were more concerned with getting the damaged tanks working again. Those who were attending were: Clark and Alexis from Campbell team, Adam and Lauren from Roberts team, Chris, James and Olivia from Wavell team, Steven and Connor from Russell team, Liz, Bethan and Amelia from Allenby team, Alice and Sean from Clinton team, Pearce, Andrew, Jo and Stephen from Montgomery team, and the entirety of Marlborough team.

On not seeing Liam's hand up, Pearce shot him a questioning glance. "What? I'm gonna go and have a nap," Liam protested.

"You were napping the entire way back to the dock and barely made it in time this morning, you can't be tired," Andrew accused.

"I didn't say I was tired," Liam shot back, "I'm just lazy." This remark won the gunner an incredulous look from his crewmates. "Fine then, just don't blame me if I fall asleep in the common room instead."

**Carrier Dauntless – Wellesley Common Room C – 1400hrs**

Once the reloading of the tanks had been completed, the Wellesley cadets had re-embarked the town-sized carrier and hit the cafeteria for lunch. Once they'd sated their not-inconsiderable hunger, those students who wanted to see what was on the cards for them in the next round filed into one of the larger common rooms in the academy's main building. Well-equipped with comfortable sofas and several high-backed chairs, most facing an immensely large television set, as well as a fridge and a kettle in one corner, the cadets rearranged the furniture and then crashed into some seats, grabbing refreshments as they did so.

Andrew swooped in on one such chair after entering, right in the centre of the semi-circle of seating that the tankery students had assembled, finding its leather upholstery to be quite comfortable. Of course, his relaxation was disturbed a moment later when Pearce, holding a freshly brewed cup of tea, tapped him on the shoulder.

"Would you mind moving too much? You appear to have sat in my seat."

"I don't see anything marking it as your seat," Andrew retorted angrily.

"Are you quite sure? That leatherwork you're sat on is terribly nice isn't it?" Pearce replied evenly, supplying a suggestion that the loader might want to check before he made such statements.

Andrew looked down at the chair. As it turned out, the comfortable leather he'd been sat on was Pearce's coat, draped into the chair by its owner. The tall cadet quickly vacated the seat.

"Thank you."

Looking around the room, the tall loader wasn't exactly devoid of choice in his seating. In fact, there was an almost identical seat right next to his captain, which Andrew occupied with speed, relaxing into the comfortable upholstery. For about five minutes at least, which was when Hart showed up. The pleasant instructor politely asked the loader if he could sit there, as he had a couple of things to talk about with Sam, effectively forcing the now somewhat disgruntled cadet to sit with the rest of Montgomery team on a couch a couple of metres away.

Having now availed themselves of refreshments and seated themselves comfortably, the cadets turned their attention to the screen, as Hart was flipping through the list of recorded programmes to find the tankery highlights.

"We've got five of these to watch, since some of us already went and saw the Oarai/Bonple/Waffle match, so we should be able to get through these, and then take a short break, before watching the final match this week, between Pravda and Scharnhorst."

"They're in our bracket, right sir?" Steven asked, getting a nod from the instructor.

"Quite. The winners of that match will be the ones we have to face in a week or so."

The room's muffled chatter faded further as Hart flipped the program on, skipping past all but a choice few sections of the Oarai match, where he explained a little about what went on. The first match after that was the Kuromorimine vs Yoghurt confrontation. Those who had done their research on the tankery circuit cringed as soon as the contenders' names came up on the screen, knowing exactly what would happen. Unsurprisingly, it took less than five minutes for the highlights to wrap themselves up, as the heavy German tanks rolled over the Bulgarian team who, to their credit, managed to take out one of Kuromorimine's Panthers, as well as blow the tracks off their Jagdpanther. Sadly, this had not saved their entire team from eradication in salvos of well-placed fire from high-calibre tank guns.

Seeing the number of German heavy tanks rolling around the relatively open grassland they were fighting in, the Wellesley cadets were understandably a tad surprised to see a non-military school so well equipped with vehicles, especially ones of such comparative rarity. Hart had explained to them that Kuromorimine was a highly militarised school that took tankery very seriously, partially to allay some concerns that the academy might yet face similar forces from other schools in the competition, but also to drive home the point that the tankery tournament was not full of rank amateurs, something which had already been proven earlier in the day against Saunders.

However, it was not the heavy tanks that had captured the attention of the Wellesley captain. Instead, it was the brunette commander of Kuromorimine, Maho Nishizumi, who had been interviewed after the match. Noting the furrowed brow of the bespectacled captain, Chris leaned across from the neighbouring sofa, getting in the way of a slightly outraged Katherine.

"What's troubling you there Sam?" he asked quietly.

"Maho Nishizumi. She's got the same façade," Pearce whispered, causing Chris a moment of confusion before he understood quite what his friend was getting at. It was true; the Kuromori captain had a completely blank, unmoveable expression which was accompanied by an aura of calmness. However, just like with Pearce, it was possible to see hints of what lay under that same exterior.

All too quickly, the interview ended and the next match's highlights were lined up to watch. This time it was Maginot and BC Freedom schools against Anzio High, arrayed against one another in a stage set around valleys and rises. From the deployment of tanks, it was clear that the two French teams had the upper hand, possessing more materiel and heavier tanks, the bulky French tanks clearly overawing the little Italian tankettes.

"Hey, Sean!" Connor shouted across the room, "I'll give you 5-1 the Italians win!"

"I'm not taking that! That's a sucker's bet!"

"I'll take you up on it," Clark said, a grin on her face. Whilst Connor was getting over the fact that the super serious Clark was getting in on the betting, Clark pulled £20 from a wallet she kept in her pocket and slapped it into the startled radio operator's hand.

"Why did you throw your money away like that?" Alexis asked as her captain retook her seat next to her. "The two French teams clearly have the advantage."

"I've been looking at some of the older records on this tournament, and it's quite clear that for all their power the French teams are weak. BC Free weren't always one academy you see, and the two groups that have carried over from the merger still don't get along. Add a third force for disunity into the mix and you get anarchy in the command chain. Anarchy in command lowers morale further down and makes the team perform worse. Just watch, they'll fall apart pretty quickly."

"Even so, they're against a team who are over half composed of tankettes, not even an idiot could lose with those sorts of odds."

"Ah, but you see, look at the girl in charge, the one with twin drills in her hair." Angela tried envisioning herself with Anchovy's hairstyle, before quashing the terrifying image. "She's obviously got the respect of her team and all of them are evidently driven."

Once the initial manoeuvring of the two teams had been completed, with Anzio deploying the decoys that they had become quite attached to on some commanding strategic points (Pepperoni having remembered to put the right number out this time), it was already possible to see cracks in the French team. The three factions had essentially determined the split of their forces, and as each advanced across the field in echelon, Anzio's CV-33 tankettes struck with fury and precision. Falling on each echelon at a time, the tankettes weaved in and out of the French formation, heavy machine guns raking tracks and exposed weak spots. Once some of the tanks had been crippled, they would draw the cumbersome French vehicles down one of the valleys, only for them to be blocked in by Anzio's Semovente tank destroyers and crushed. This was repeated several times until the Italian team's commander herself led an assault on a small group protecting the enemy flag tank, finally ending the shambolic display. The entire room had a laugh at Connor's expense when he was forced to leave to withdraw cash to pay Clark back.

The next match in the show was Kutusov against the combined forces of Blue Division and Koala Forest academy. While most around the room were more interested in the combinations of tanks fielded, some of the Brit cadets were in stitches when they heard the name of the Australian-themed school, finding the perpetuation of the Australian stereotype quite entertaining. The relatively laid-back appearance of the students in the Koala team did nothing to dispel this trope either, leading to a few terrible imitations of an Australian accent. The match took place on a coastal plain, with a small village on the shoreline, and a sandy beach gradually giving way into tall hills and a few cliffs about a mile inland.

Kutusov's opening gambit, as in their match with Wellesley, was to send forward their scouts and pinpoint enemy positions as fast as possible, whilst their tank destroyers picked out optimal ambush locations. The combined team had the same idea, a few German and Allied light tanks, such as the Stuart speeding into the central area. What followed was a battle of manoeuvre as the light tanks duelled out in the middle ground, making passes at each other. The skirmish ended in a virtual tie as the single light tank left to both sides pulled back, leaving the match to turn into a long game of sniper warfare, taking potshots and moving. The stalemate was finally broken when Koala Forest led a flanking manoeuvre down the beach, aiming to sweep round the rear of the Russian team, only to be pounded flat by the personal intervention of Dmitry, leading a couple of other tank destroyers. Seeing their position was virtually hopeless, Blue Division's remaining vehicles led a gallant defence, but were ground to paste under the merciless Russian advance.

"Well it looks like Dmitry kept a lid on his temper this time round," Pearce commented.

"No doubt because Kristina kept him under control," Katherine replied, "Kutusov kept it together and fought like they should have."

"All Kutusov needed was a woman's delicate touch," Olivia said.

Whilst the occupants of the neighbouring couch started talking amongst themselves, Hart chose this moment to strike up a conversation with Pearce.

"I believe there were some things that needed to be brought to my attention," Hart said.

"Nothing major sir, just a few casual observations. Based on the varying weather conditions of the tournament stages, I just thought new, more well-suited uniforms might be prudent over our standard academy gear, purely to make our crews more comfortable. It also means we wouldn't be getting our class uniforms dirty every match. I would also like the rules on personal affectations to be relaxed a little, again for crew comfort."

Hart grinned at the latter statement. "That last one's about your coat and knight's cross isn't it?" He smiled at the small cadet. "I don't see why not, I'll ask the headmaster, and see if we have anything in stores that would be more suitable for uniforms. If not, I'm sure we should be able to get something ordered in from back home."

"Superb. I also wanted to ask, on Elliot's behalf, whether we can remove the speed governors from our Cromwell and Comet tanks. For all the potential damage to the suspension, both myself and Elliot are of the opinion the extra speed would be very useful."

Hart paused for a second. "I'm not totally au fait with the rules at this point, and I'd have to ask both the headmaster and the league authorities, so hold off for now alright?"

"Of course."

The next match up was Bradley against Chi-Ha-Tan academy, which all the cadets focused on intently, wishing to see what the rival school was going to throw into the tournament. Chi-ha-tan had brought a mix of the light and medium Japanese tanks of the war to the field, most of them the Type 97 Chi-Ha with which the school shared its name. Bradley on the other hand, had brought several of the upgraded M4 Shermans, notably 4 'Jumbos', as well as two Locust scout tanks, two M4A3E8 'Easy Eight' Shermans, as well as an M18 Hellcat, fitted with a roof kit to give it an enclosed turret. Their flag tank, being the only 'heavy' tank in the lineup (even if it had been reclassified post-war to a medium), was an M26 Pershing. A few murmurs went round the room about the powerful force the American academy had brought to the field.

"That's a pretty strong force they've got there," Chris commented.

"They'll have more in reserve," Pearce replied, eliciting a couple of nervous looks from a few team members, "Bradley have never done things by halves."

The match took place on a mountain plateau, a mixture of narrow passes and open fields, punctuated by steep cliffs, the drop off which looked incredibly ominous, the hard granite faces of the mountains plunging into sheer drops.

"Who on earth thought this was a safe zone for a match?" Alexis asked.

"The same people who thought they should draw the venues by roulette," Clark replied caustically.

The scarcity of the highlights conveyed the shortness of the match – devoid of any space to manoeuvre or hide, Chi-Ha-Tan were set upon by the swift moving Locusts, which to their credit they fended off relatively well, but were then blitzed at close range by the roaring Shermans of the American academy, as the light tanks had bought enough time for them to traverse the passes. Faced with the thick-armoured Jumbos, Chi-Ha-Tan quickly folded.

"Brutal and effective," Clark observed, "Not particularly moderated, just efficient."

"Really? It looked like they were using a sledgehammer to crack a nut to me," Bethan commented from her seat a couple of metres away.

"It worked though," Clark pointed out.

The final recorded match was between St Gloriana Women's Academy and the Viking/Jatkosota Scandinavian team. As soon as the name of the St Gloriana commander came on screen, a few of the team once more failed to suppress their giggles.

"I still fail to see what is amusing," Pearce said.

"Oh come on Sam, she's called Darjeeling!" Chris laughed, "What are her subordinates called? Yorkshire and PG Tips?"

"Don't be preposterous. Those are brands, not types of tea," Pearce deadpanned. "Regardless, the girls from that school are incredibly pleasant, with impeccable manners."

"I would have to agree," Hart put in, "For all the misconceptions that abound in these schools, they do at least reflect the good traits of those nations for the most part. In fact, I would be quite happy if more people followed their example back home."

"I don't think all of us could be intolerably civil tea drinkers," Chris said quietly, earning himself a warning glare from Pearce over the rim of his teacup.

Whilst the friendly banter had gone round the room, the highlights reel had gotten to about halfway through the match, and showed the Viking Fisheries force in full retreat from an advancing wall of Matildas, led by Darjeeling's Churchill, two ranks deep, firing as they went. St G had also fielded their two Crusader tanks, and these nipped at the heels of the Scandinavian school as they retreated. The match seemed to teeter for a second as Jatkosota counterattacked into the flank of the British school, but the ranks of Matildas merely soaked up the losses, reformed and pressed home their assault, routing the Norse-themed schools in precise volleys of fire.

"They've certainly got the stiff upper lip of a Brit school," Simon said.

"They weren't even fazed by that flank assault," Chloe agreed, the rest of Marlborough team nodding in assent.

The final match that was to be shown, beginning at 3pm for the cadets, was the Scharnhorst/Pravda fight, and the Wellesley students scrambled to get more refreshments before watching the start of the match. Some of the cadets however focused intently on the line-up of the two teams in the match, well aware that one of these two teams would be their next opponents. Taking place in the pouring rain, with dark clouds obscuring the sun, it seemed as if low visibility was the order of the day. The pre-match meeting between the commanders went poorly it seemed, as the highly professional Adela Lederer, a girl from a traditionally aristocratic family, managed to aggravate the Pravda commander, a diminutive and child-like girl with messy blonde hair, who was being carried on the shoulders of a tall black-haired girl who wore an expression that looked like it was carved from ice.

Chris leaned across again to talk to Pearce. "It looks as if you've found a captain that's shorter than you, Sam. Ne, I wonder how she got her command, she looks like a bit of a brat."

"Quite. But as you should be well aware Christopher, looks can be deceptive. Just because she looks like a child doesn't mean she has the mind of one. I would be wary of her if I were you."

Once the camera panned back to the two teams preparing, the spectators assessed the composition of both sides. Pravda were fielding the expected preponderance of T-34 tanks, 8 of them in a 50/50 mix of 76mm and 85mm guns, as well as an IS-2 Heavy tank as the flag tank, and a KV-2 Heavy Assault tank. The inclusion of the KV-2, which was primarily intended for bunker-busting over tank on tank combat, raised a few eyebrows in the Wellesley team. In contrast, and true to their Prussian heritage, Scharnhorst were comprised primarily of German tanks, most of them from the early war. Three StuG III Ds, two Panzer IV F1s, three Panzer IV F2s and one Panzer III F were led by a Panther Ausf. A, which served as their flag tank.

"Those early war tanks might struggle against Pravda's force," Hart observed.

"I would agree," Pearce replied, "Those low velocity guns simply don't have enough power to disable most of the Russian tanks, even the T-34s, except at point blank. They'll have to be careful."

Scharnhorst opened the match in a manner highly suited to their Germanic roots, an armoured punch straight towards the Pravda lines. The few T-34/76s that Katyusha deployed against them were pushed back repeatedly in almost contemptuous fashion, the remaining one fleeing from the centre ground back towards Pravda's deployment zone. The gambit had cost Scharnhorst only one of their StuGs, so the team pressed forward, hoping to maintain their momentum.

It was at this time that Hart got a call. Quickly checking the caller and answering, after a few lines of muttered conversation, Hart stood up. "Yes sir, I'll be right there." Heading for the door, he called back to the cadets, "The Headmaster wants to talk to me. I'll be back in a while."

Back on the battlefield, combat continued. By this point the sunlight was beginning to fail, with the rain so heavy that visibility was down to a minimum and the ground was now sodden, forcing Scharnhorst's tanks to slow down in order to maintain cohesion. This was when Pravda launched their counterattack, a single shot arcing from the darkness to claim the Panzer III leading the force heralding a vicious assault. Moving to envelop the Prussian vehicles in a double pincer, Pravda's T-34s charged through the downpour to begin laying into the disciplined Germans, supported by fire from the KV-2 and the IS-2, both heavy tanks churning the ground around the Panzers into a sodden morass. Adela quickly realised that the best way to restore the situation was to extricate her team from it, and ordered her tanks to begin falling back by groups, covering each other by fire. However, the rain soaked and cratered ground was now beginning to reduce the mobility of the Panzers greatly, and the retreat slowed to a crawl. Wasting no time, Katyusha ordered a pursuit, the Russian tanks grumbling after the fleeing Germans, firing as they went. The Prussian academy maintained a fierce defence however, claiming a number of their relentless pursuers as they retreated, and indeed ricocheting a few rounds off the inexorably advancing IS-2, which was now leading Pravda's remaining vehicles. Despite their efforts, by the time Scharnhorst had reached their own deployment zone they had only three functional vehicles remaining to Pravda's five. A final exchange of shots ended the battle, with Katyusha's precious KV-2 disabling Adela's Panther with a powerful blast of its 152mm howitzer.

"Looks like their Barbarossa turned more into Bagration," Pearce commented dryly.

"They're also the first of the academies out of the running this year," Katherine said, "Just goes to prove that competition in this league can be quite fierce, and we shouldn't underestimate any of them."

"Looks like we got Pravda next," Clark mused, "Reckon we can take 'em Pearce?"

"They're obviously strong," Pearce replied, getting the attention of several in the room, "But we can and will win."

"Damn right. We'll go out there and show them," Clark grinned, and the rest of the cadets smiled too, looks of determination on their faces. Those looks were promptly dispelled, replaced instead by a collective groan, with Pearce's next statement.

"Just so everyone remembers, training is tomorrow at 8:00 sharp."

**Chapter End**

**There we go! Another chapter slowly pieced together by my tardy self. I apologise for the slow upload speed on my part, but I've not been so motivated recently to do anything, and also inundated with work, so it's taken a while to create. I hope this is up to par for you guys, and I would especially like to thank Theralion, who I've bugged constantly over miniscule aspects of my storytelling, and I strongly advise you check out some of Theralion's work, it's pretty damn good. That's it from me for now, I'm going to crash into bed, do some more uni work and play Hearts of Iron before planning my next chapter. Peace!**


	16. Chapter 16: Difficult Terrain

**Hey guys! I have returned from the dark abyss of university work to write another chapter of ridiculous tank battles and nonsensical plot. Interestingly, I started reading ****Guderian's**** (Yukari's) book 'Achtung Panzer!', since it is actually a superb work on the use of tanks in warfare. I'm also going to the Tank Museum at some point, to squee over the real Tiger 131.**

**I would like to thank/reply to a couple of people who read this work, starting with the 20 or so people who are nice (or mad) enough to have followed and/or favorited this story. You guys rock. I also would like to thank the couple of hundred people who have soldiered their way to this, the sixteenth chapter of my undeniably questionable tale. Also, since most of my audience appears to be located in the US, hi there from across the pond! **

**Knightewolfe – Sorry to disappoint but Wellesley vs Pravda is not happening this chapter. As per the previous matches, there will be a chapter of preparation beforehand. (Plus, who is Oarai fighting? – you'll know soon enough) Is Bradley hiding a Super Pershing? I'm going to say maybe.**

**Theralion – I don't really need to address your reviews – they're succinct, detailed and helpful (as always). Now I just need to steal your ability to update frequently.**

**Like all authors, I like more reviews. At present, roughly 1% of each chapter's audience reviews. I allow anonymous reviewing, so even those of you without accounts can leave feedback, and I'm always happy to read them. Feel free to comment on whatever you want in the story, or even leave suggestions, as long as you leave a review.**

**Warning: This chapter might bounce around a bit. Not back and forth, but between several views. Also, this chapter will contain at least 20% more Darjeeling. (Edit: At least 50%)**

**Without further ado, Panzer vor!**

**Carrier Zuikaku – 1600hrs – Monday 3****rd**** February**

At much the same time as their counterparts in Wellesley had watched the round-off of the week's tankery results, the Oarai team leaders had done the same. Clustered in the meeting room facing a large projector, to which Anzu's computer was currently connected, the high schoolers watched the match results come in. As per usual, Caesar, Noriko, Azusa, Miho and Anzu were there, accompanied by the Student Council and Anglerfish team. Joining them were Nekota and Nakajima, with only Mallard team going unrepresented as Sodoko was, as usual, policing the school grounds with her army of doppelgangers.

"It looks like we're facing St Gloriana again," Momo announced to the rest of the assembled tankers. Unsurprisingly, Nekota and Nakajima looked a bit lost, given that they hadn't been in the team at the point that Oarai had confronted the British girls.

"Do we know where we're facing them?" Azusa asked.

"We'll get that information sent through within the next 48 hours," Momo replied, "As well as the match schedule for the next round."

"What is important however, is that we're properly prepared to face them this time. We went in blind last time, and we paid the price for it. Even with them both holding back the number of tanks they had, and underestimating us, we still performed poorly," Caesar put in.

"Though we have a better line-up, I know that Gloriana also possess more tanks, and they simply matched numbers out of courtesy. They won't do that now, so we should assume that they will have the maximum ten tanks in the second round," Miho stated, her face contemplative.

"Do you need me to provide reconnaissance?" Yukari asked eagerly. She actually quite enjoyed the thrill of sneaking on board the other school ships to scout out their teams, even if she'd had a narrow escape with Saunders.

"Not this time. I have a reasonable idea of what tanks St Gloriana has in store for us, so we should be able to formulate a plan once we get our match fixture." Miho also didn't want Yukari endangering herself like that again, especially over information that she could easily access. Whilst she knew the St Gloriana girls would likely take Yukari to tea rather than to task for sneaking on board their ship, it was still unnecessary on the part of her loader, and Miho wanted her friend in the place she was most useful, in the tank next to her.

The rest of the assembled Oarai girls nodded their heads in acknowledgment. This time, the school had more tanks, it had confidence, and best of all, it had experience. Oarai's tankery team was no longer the green gaggle of girls that had scraped their way through the tournament by the skins of their teeth, and they were going to prove that the previous term was no fluke.

Since further planning was going to be of little use without knowing the terrain they were going to be fighting on, the high-schoolers dispersed for the day. Anglerfish team left the building together, with Saori leading them on a relaxed stroll through town, pulling Mako by the hand as she did so, the sleepy girl trudging along in her wake.

"Where are we going Miss Takebe?" Yukari asked, puzzled as to the intention of the trip.

"We've not had a communal meal in a while, so I thought it would be nice if we all cooked something at my place this evening," the red-headed girl chirped.

"Thank you very much Saori," said Miho gratefully. Whilst they spent a lot of time together in school and in the tank, they hadn't spent much leisure time together so far this term.

A short walk across the carrier-borne town later, backlit by a now setting sun framed by a few clouds, the girls arrived at Saori's apartment. Upon their entrance Mako immediately made a beeline for the nearest piece of comfortable furniture and slumped into it, pausing only to politely remove her shoes in the doorway. The rest of the girls followed suit, moving into the living area to allow Saori space to get out what they needed to cook. Hana neatly stacked a set of women's magazines that were strewn haphazardly across the table and floor, putting them to one side so the rest of the group could sit down. The clatter of pans in the kitchen came to an abrupt halt a few minutes later, and Saori began calling the different crewmates into the kitchen to help her with the preparation of food.

"Miho, can you come in here and help prepare the noodles please?"

"Sure." The relatively timid commandant replied in the affirmative, and padded over to the stove, where a pan of water was already beginning to boil. Miho added some salt and waited patiently for the right point to put the noodles, which were sat in a packet next to the stove, in to boil.

Hana was the next called over, asked to prepare some vegetables. Having long realised that cutting flowers and chopping ingredients were not equivalent skills, the graceful gunner nevertheless applied the same precision and efficiency to both tasks. At the same time, Saori was preparing a thick broth of chicken, and Yukari was put to work on the toppings, a mixture of bean sprouts and corn. Mako was given the easiest job, laying out the cutlery and clearing the table, which she did before slumping back into her comfy chair.

Within an hour or so, thanks in part to Saori's careful scrutiny, a steaming pot full of Shiyo ramen was placed in front of Anglerfish team by the radio operator. With a simultaneous 'Itadakimasu' the five high schoolers dug in, savouring the fruits of their labours. Little was spoken between the crew whilst they partook of the meal, instead enjoying the kind of comfortable silence that could only be had between a group of very close friends. Each of them occasionally glanced around the room at their friends as they ate, simply enjoying the tranquil atmosphere and taking a moment to reflect on the friendships they had made.

Despite their relatively short time together, less than half a year in fact, the Anglerfish girls had bonded strongly, mostly through constant exposure to one another and shared experience, as their long hours in the tank and the necessity of teamwork essentially forced the issue. Even though they had wildly varied personalities the Panzer IV crew wouldn't trade their companions for anything. If one considered the Oarai tankery team as a circle of friends, Anglerfish team was a family. As someone who had few actual close relations left, Mako felt very strongly about this. Miho felt similarly, given her estrangement from her mother, and the physical distance from her sister. Regardless of their situation, all of the five were fiercely determined not to let their friends down, something which made them one of the most fearsome tank crews in the league, if not worldwide. However, the moments of contemplation which the girls had been enjoying were interrupted by Saori, who had quickly bored of the peaceful atmosphere.

"Miporin, since we're seeing the St Gloriana girls next, do you think I should ask Darjeeling about how to do her hair into those elegant braids she wears?" The ginger girl pointed to her own hair, and Miho had a quick vision of Saori with Darjeeling's hairstyle.

"I think it would look very nice," Miho replied, trying to be complementary but avoid saying that it would look far better in its normal style.

"Mou, that wasn't exactly enthusiastic," Saori pouted, turning to Hana, "Hana, what do you think about it?"

"You would look very nice, as per usual Saori," Hana said politely.

Saori only pouted more, as the gunner's compliment merely served to underscore that she had almost totally copied Miho's statement. She raised a tentative eyebrow at Yukari and Mako, inviting their comments, whilst bracing for the inevitable snark.

"I don't know much about hairstyles, Miss Takebe," Yukari said, failing to spot the huge irony in the fact that the daughter of a pair of barbers was admitting this, "But I think you would look…"

"Don't say nice!"

"..very pleasant."

Saori just sighed, and awaited Mako's undoubtedly sarcastic response.

"If you want to have your hair like that, just do it," Mako said simply.

Saori's jaw nearly dropped open. Mako hadn't taken the chance to say something sarcastic, even when presented with the perfect opportunity.

"It's not like I could stop you if you really wanted to."

There it was.

Recovering with her usual speed and enthusiasm, Saori began to press her teammates as to anything interesting that they'd done recently. Whilst they spent a lot of time together, the girls still had individual lives, and Saori was always keen to know what they'd been up to.

"I've been working on some flowerbed designs. Mother asked if I want to work on a flower arrangement together with her at some point, as she wants to change the arrangement of part of the garden," Hana said, making the rest of the team smile at how well Hana and her mother had reconciled after their falling-out.

"If your mother would allow, I would love to see it at some point," Miho said.

"Yeah, your arrangements are so awesome I'd love to see you try your hand at a whole garden," Saori added. The others nodded in agreement before Saori asked, "Ne, Mako, what have you been up to in your off time?"

"I would have done some reading normally, but Grandma has taken up Mah-jong and is insisting that I play it with her so she gets better," Mako reported, an unusual warmth in her tone. She liked spending time with her grandma, but they never really had anything to do together, so being able to teach her mah-jong was very enjoyable for the Panzer driver.

"I've always found Mah-jong to be quite taxing," Saori said, "I don't think I quite have the patience for it."

"It's a very strategic game too," Yukari put in, "I always struggled with the more mental aspects when I played it with my parents, my mother always said she beat me and my father because we're too easy to read."

A natural pause in the conversation gave Yukari a chance to address Anglerfish's commander. "So Miss Nishizumi, have you been doing anything exciting in your spare time?"

"I haven't really been doing much," Miho said, a little embarrassed at her lack of interesting tales to tell. "I've read a couple of novels on an evening to unwind, but nothing special. Oh, but Sister did send me the newest bandage teddy for my collection. It's hard to get the newest ones on school ships, so she occasionally sends me them when Kuromorimine's carrier docks in port." Miho's collection of bandaged teddy bears had always seemed a little strange to the Anglerfish girls, even given their relatively unique personalities. It was more that they were bandaged than anything else, and whilst the other four crew members had written it off as a quirk, in one of her more philosophical moments, Mako had pondered if it was a reflection of Miho's own damaged self-image. The appearance of a couple of un-bandaged teddies in the collection certainly hadn't missed her eye either, and perhaps lent further credence to her theory.

When Saori's inquisitive gaze swivelled onto Yukari, she averted her eyes nervously. She didn't really have much to say that wasn't private, as Erwin had consistently hauled her off to talk about anything and everything. It seemed that although they had been friends before, the reki-jo had really taken a shine to Yukari recently, as even though Yukari was not the best person to work through problems with, she was a fantastic listener. The blonde Rommel had started to confide in Yukari as much as she did the rest of the history club, conversing on subjects ranging from serious to utterly random, sometimes with all five of them present. It had delighted Yukari to be part of a broader circle of friends, given her oft isolated nature before she joined the tankery team.

"I've been spending some time with Miss Erwin and the other members of the history club," Yukari said lamely, refusing to add much more. She especially didn't want to discuss that herself and Erwin had been talking at times about the boy who had antagonised Miho and the rest of the team a short while ago. The loader also didn't want to make it seem like she was moving into another friendship circle, and upset her friends, or make them jealous.

"That sounds like fun Yukari," Hana said politely.

"Yeah, it looks like you've really bonded with them," Miho agreed, giving Yukari a pleasant smile, which immediately lifted the loader's spirits. She was glad her friends weren't upset that she was also welcome in other circles.

Saori paused for a minute when all the eyes in the room locked onto her, with all the inexorable finality of an advancing Panzer. She was kind of jealous of the rest of her team, who all seemed to have something to pass the time outside of their group, even if it was relatively mundane. The radio operator had little comparable to share with her friends, as her family didn't live on the ship with her. She was practicing for the next level of her radio licence, but Mako already knew that and was helping her study again. Aside from that, Saori occasionally spent time with the Rabbit team girls, who still looked up to her quite a bit, and read her girly magazines. Aside from that, she didn't really have any hobbies to think of, for all the outward appearance of her being a social butterfly. Hana sensed Saori's uncharacteristic hesitation and came to the rescue.

"If I recall, Saori was practicing the recipe that we used this evening," Hana said, "She wanted to make sure that we got it right." The red-headed girl shot her friend a grateful look.

"Yeah, I didn't want it to turn out like the first time we cooked." The rest of the girls went a little red in embarrassment as they recalled how useless they were the first time they cooked together. However, it did give Saori a thought: Why didn't she try cooking? She found it enjoyable, and some of her friends, particularly Hana, (which one wouldn't have thought given her polite nature), really did like their food. Maybe she could put all those magazine recipes to work, and maybe, she thought, she could put those recipes to work on a guy. The way to a man's heart was through his stomach after all.

It took Saori a moment to zone back into the conversation, her mind having wandered lost in thoughts of food and romance. It seemed Hana had asked Yukari something, and from the loader's enthusiastic demeanour, it had evidently been about tanks.

"Well I don't see why you couldn't practice firing on the move Miss Isuzu, it's just standard practice for vehicles to stop in order to fire, because nothing from the era had any form of powerful stabilisation. Some American vehicles had limited gyro stabilisers, but they weren't very effective. Only in a few tanks, which were either slow, like the Matilda II, or had incredibly complex suspensions, like the Panther, could a crew manage any semblance of accuracy whilst in motion."

"Sister told me once that usually the way you overcame that in a battle was simply to fire more shots at the target," Miho put in. "But then again, Kuromorimine has so many tanks that they can concentrate their fire that way."

"You could, but it's still very inefficient. Even though in most matches we barely get halfway through the shot locker, tanks can still only carry a certain amount of ammunition, and firing on the move is often fairly wasteful, unless you're laying smoke or using HE rounds."

"Why would you want to blanket the enemy in smoke anyway?" Saori asked, deciding to contribute to the conversation.

"Usually it's to close on an enemy position, or prevent them from firing back at you," Miho replied, "Whilst we don't have anti-tank guns in tankery, a fixed emplacement can accurately target and destroy tanks at great distance, as well as carry a bigger round than a tank, and so you would want to flank it in a battle, because it's hard to rotate."

"Oh, right, so if say Duck team were to try and attack us, they'd want to use smoke because they'd need to get round the sides of our tank to damage it?"

"Yeah, that's what they'd want to do, because our gun is capable of wrecking them at over 1000m distance, whilst even their new gun can't even damage our front armour, except at point blank range."

"So will we need to do that against St Gloriana?" Yukari asked.

"Probably not," Miho said, her expression growing thoughtful. "We needed to get close before because our team wasn't well trained and we lacked a number of powerful weapons, but now we have sufficient vehicles that we can take them on at normal combat distances. Leopon team especially have the firepower to do so, with their 88mm."

"I always hear you guys talking about millimetres whenever you refer to the guns on the tanks. I take it that is the shell size, and the bigger the shell is, the more damage it does right?" Saori put in, as she didn't really comprehend the way tank guns worked.

"Half right," Yukari replied, "The millimetres refer to the diameter of the shell, and hence how wide the gun barrel of the tank is, but increased size doesn't always offer greater penetrative power. The power of the gun, and the length of the barrel also affect penetrative power. You remember the stubby barrel we had on our Panzer last term?"

"Yeah, it didn't really pack a punch until we got the new gun."

"Well, the short barrel meant that the round wasn't focused, and so wasn't very fast. By increasing the length of the barrel, it allows the shell to accelerate more, hence hitting the target with more force. It just tends to be that bigger guns are more powerful, and that makes them even more dangerous, because bigger shells also have more explosive power."

"More room for explosive charge in a bigger shell," Saori said almost absent-mindedly, being one of the few things she had retained the last time Yukari had started talking about tanks in detail. The comment caught Yukari off-guard, but she recovered admirably.

"Well, it also depends on the ammunition type…"

Mako, now pleasantly sated and comfortable in a chair, tried to tune out her friends' chatter, as the relaxing atmosphere was making her drowsier than usual.

**The Pearce Residence – 2000hrs (British time)**

"I though you said that Wellesley should have lost to Saunders," James protested, once again seated in front of a screen displaying the emotionless visage of Shiho Nishizumi. Even though he wasn't in her actual presence, the sense of confidence and power rolling off the stern woman was almost enough to make the man blanch. James Pearce wasn't a timid man that was for sure, but the air of authority that the Nishizumi family's matriarch possessed almost scared him. All the men that complained about the strong presence of women in tankery would certainly change their tune when faced with this formidable lady, Pearce thought.

"Actually, I told you that Saunders were a strong team that had a good chance of defeating Wellesley in a match. I in no way guaranteed that your son's team would be knocked out of the tournament," Shiho said evenly.

"Well, what can you do to aid their exit in the next round?" James asked, silently wishing Emma was there to provide some support. Mrs Pearce was not in the house at the moment, as she had been called to a meeting.

"I'm afraid you still haven't quite grasped the limitations on my influence over the tournament," Shiho replied, "Even though I serve on the Board, I cannot change the established rules of the competition, certainly not when it's underway. Equally, I cannot influence the match fixtures unduly. My only major coup so far has been in the selection of tournament brackets for the second round, as part of a few suggestions I put forward to increase the competition's effectiveness."

What the stone-faced Nishizumi leader did not say, however, was that part of those changes were to help her engineer a rematch between her daughters, not help the Pearces fulfil their agenda. The modicum of respect she had for these parents attempting to protect their son was wearing steadily thinner the more she was exposed to them, especially when it clashed with her own ideology of upholding the family lineage. Her main reason for helping them was primarily linked to her own machinations, in that clearing Wellesley out of the way removed obstacles to Maho and Miho's battle.

"However, the limited effect I have had still poses an obstacle to your son. In the way of Wellesley Academy are Pravda High, possibly the strongest competitors besides Oarai and Kuromorimine. They will be in for a hard fight, as for all their flaws, Pravda are tenacious and wily."

James's expression lightened a bit at the news. "Thank you once more for your help Mrs Nishizumi. It gives me hope that I can see my son home safely" he said gratefully.

Were Shiho an expressive woman, she would have had to refrain from curling a lip in distaste at the overly thankful tone the man was using. Were it not for recognising that she had perhaps made some mistakes in her role as a mother, she would not be quite so sympathetic to the parents of this boy. Still, she thought, by placing another obstacle in the path of the military academy, one which another of their counterparts had already failed to surmount, the result would be interesting to observe. She had yet to determine if the Nishizumi style of tankery was also upheld by any of the academies, and the translation of military acumen to tankery greatly intrigued the cold woman.

"If that is all you wished to talk with me about, Mr Pearce, I will take my leave," Shiho said.

"Of course, Mrs Nishizumi. Thank you for your time."

When the link shut off, Shiho had a brief moment of contemplation. It was evident to see in the desperation of the Pearce family that they cared more about their son's safety than their family legacy, where for Shiho almost the complete reverse was true. Coming into contact with the British family had provided a powerful counterpoint to her own views, and it certainly had made her consider the relationship she had with Miho. She had been on the verge of disinheriting her own flesh and blood, the child she had given birth to, for not upholding her family's practices. Through Miho's efforts that had been averted, but even now Shiho struggled to accept her daughter's methods in tankery, even though she could grudgingly respect them.

If Miho could repeat her stunt from last year, perhaps things could change, but as leader of the Nishizumi family, Shiho had to try and prove her wrong, even if she could take a small amount of pride at her daughter's achievements. It was hard work for the stone-faced Nishizumi to uphold her family's heritage. Her mother had imbued the same lessons into her as she was trying to implant into her daughters, and Shiho understood the necessity of it, as part of the school's traditions, but at the same time it hurt her a little. There was only so much sadness that she could bottle up, and the further apart she had grown from her daughters, the closer the bottle came to overflowing, or tipping over entirely.

Breaking from her moment of reflection, the Nishizumi matriarch once again donned the persona of the formidable leader of the most prestigious tankery school created, and called Kikuyo in to make her some tea, and bring her the latest reports she needed to read.

**HMS Ark Royal – Meeting Hall – 1600hrs – Wednesday 5****th**** February**

An opulent dining room, hung with portraits and occupied by a number of large round tables, was filled with the clinking of fine china as the ladies of St Gloriana partook of their afternoon tea. Cream-coloured wallpaper, hung with portraits of suitably martial looking figures, was complemented by a thick red carpet and a number of golden light fittings. The girls at the Women's Academy knew how to dine in style. Around thirty girls sat around the room in various groups, chatting politely and partaking of scones, cakes and biscuits, all washed down with a cup of tea. An enormous rack on the wall, with easily over one hundred sections, contained a vast array of different teas.

This was the St Gloriana Tea Garden, mustered for afternoon tea, which oft doubled as a strategy meeting for the tankery team. The Tea Garden allowed in only the most exemplary students, refined in thought, word and deed, and these ladies were considered the school's elite. They included a number of alumni who were sat amongst the girls, visible because of their civilian dress, including Darjeeling's mentor, Earl Grey. She was sat at what could be considered the 'Inner Circle' table, where the students who led St Gloriana's team usually were seated, being nearest the window, and hence a delightful view of the garden outside, where some of the other students could be seen playing croquet.

Darjeeling was sat with her mentor on one side, and Pekoe on the other. They were joined by Assam, Oolong and Jasmine, the latter two of which were third year commanders like Darjeeling. Oolong much resembled Pekoe in appearance, being a petite girl with braided hair, only her locks were of a brown colour, and her eyes were green. Jasmine, on the other hand, was tall and well-developed, with black hair that cascaded down her back, a blue ribbon just above her left ear, and deep brown eyes. Whilst they conversed politely, Darjeeling gazed up at the clock on the wall, just as it began chiming for four o'clock, and the beginning of their meeting. Clinking her teaspoon against her cup, Darjeeling stood up to address the assembled girls, most of whom were also her team captains.

"Good afternoon ladies, I hope you have all availed yourself of refreshments, because it is now time to begin our strategy meeting for the forthcoming tournament fixture against Oarai High School."

The polite conversation that had prevailed throughout the hall died down to leave only the clinking of fine china. The ladies all looked up from their conversations to listen to Darjeeling, behind whom Pekoe was setting up a projector. Assam closed the voluminous curtains so that the team could better view the images, which were being displayed on a flat space of wall behind her captain.

"Our next match will be on Friday the 14th, nine days from now," Darjeeling announced, "The league's roulette wheel has determined that we will be contesting our opponents in the Great Sandy Desert, which the Australian Tankery League allowed our league to use this term. We will be making port in Port Headland, just west of the desert's edge, and will be fighting on that peripheral area."

Pekoe was busily putting up pictures behind Darjeeling, including a satellite map, which she then zoomed in to provide terrain detail. A couple of marks were added to indicate deployment areas, as well as a box around the designated fighting area. Terrain gradually became visible, superimposed on the map picture by Pekoe.

A hand went up on another table, belonging to a brunette girl with her hair drawn back in a braided ponytail.

"Yes, Ceylon?"

"Are there any specific preparations that you would like me and the engineers to perform?" she asked. "It looks like it might be quite the environment out there."

Ceylon was the designated liaison to the engineering team, as none of the other members of her team were part of the Tea Garden. The engineering team actually contributed two crews to St Gloriana's tankery team, but were considered a group apart due to their choices in influence. The engineers, rather than take their influence from the English part of Great Britain as most students did, instead chose to emulate Scottish ideas, and so rarely made it to the Tea Garden mostly due to their obsession with bagpipes, or the occasional switching of their skirts to tartan, both of which were considered minor infractions. St Gloriana also had an Irish contingent, and a Welsh one too, who mostly seemed to comprise the music and literature clubs, but these were also small groups, and equally under-represented in the Tea Garden.

"None that I can think of," Darjeeling replied, "I'm sure you and your colleagues will think something up," she finished with a smile, before continuing, "For the next round, we can field ten tanks. I think that although matching numbers would be a chivalrous gesture, I feel that the Oarai girls would more likely feel insulted that we would underestimate them so. Thus, we will be fielding the maximum ten tanks."

The blonde-haired girl gestured to Pekoe, who dutifully flipped the slide over. Darjeeling didn't know what she'd do without her loyal subordinate, who by this point was more like her best friend, alongside Assam. Pekoe willingly undertook all sorts of menial tasks even without being asked, all for her sake. The smaller girl was already hugely competent, dedicated and smart, now all she needed was confidence, which Darjeeling was hoping to impart before she graduated, in order to give her cute little loader the maximum chance of becoming St Gloriana's next commander.

"We will, as per usual, be fielding our Churchill VII," Darjeeling said, with the corresponding picture appearing behind her, "The other tanks in our team will be seven of our nine Matilda II tanks, and our two Crusader tanks, as our Cromwell is still awaiting parts. Assam, if you would be so kind?"

The demure purple-eyed girl stepped forward, holding a top hat, into which Darjeeling dropped nine slips of paper. Assam then covered the hat and shook it, mixing up the slips of paper.

"In order to make it fair, we will be drawing lots to determine which Matilda crews will be competing. Miss Earl Grey, if you would not mind drawing lots for us, I would be most grateful."

"Of course," her former superior responded, standing from her seat, careful not to ruffle her pristine white dress.

When the lots had been drawn, Lapsang and Chai were the two commanders left looking slightly dejected, although they took it in good stride, and quickly recovered their good spirits with a cup of their namesake brew. The aroma in the room by this point was somewhat chaotic, but to most members of the Tea Garden, the subtle blend was heavenly. Darjeeling announced a short break in proceedings to allow members to seek further refreshment, before they began to discuss the strategy they would use to counter their wily opponents in Oarai.

**Wellesley Royal Military Academy – Carrier Dauntless – 1700hrs – Wednesday 5****th**** February**

A long session on the ranges had been the day's training for the Wellesley cadets, compounded by a shootout, testing speed and accuracy. Hart had thought that whilst the cadets had manoeuvred well in their last match, their marksmanship was in need of polish, so they could best employ the powerful guns mounted on their vehicles. Surprisingly, Clinton team had won the shootout, managing to load and fire their OQF 75mm with clinical efficiency. The fact that most of the crew were sweating heavily as the climbed out of their vehicle only served to underscore the amount of effort they'd put in, driven on by Katherine's exhortations.

The cadets were fairly tired from the day's work, and so were a little unimpressed when Hart reminded them that morning teaching was starting again tomorrow and the team would instead meet at one o'clock, after the lunch hour, and finish at half-six. Whilst the head had given them a short time to get their training up to the mark, their academic education still needed to continue, and would be supplemented by the occasional evening class if needed. Hart took the fact that only a few people griped as proof that the cadets were beginning to enjoy tankery, and were more frustrated that they were being dragged away from their vehicles to learn.

As the cadets trooped off home for the evening, the captains were once more called to the meeting room to talk strategy. The projector was humming as Hart and eight of the captains took their seats, with Pearce walking to the front of the room, picking up a ruler in order to point at the board. Hart deliberately chose a seat towards the back of the room, as part of his strategy to become progressively more hands-off as the competition went on. Not that wasn't already

"Ladies and Gentlemen, on Wednesday next week we have our next match. As those of you who came to watch the match will be aware, we are facing Pravda High. They won the tournament the time before last, and are widely regarded as one of the strongest contenders."

"I take it you went away and did some research on them over the last couple of days," Hart said, receiving a nod in response.

"Yes sir, and while not much, I was able to retrieve some information regarding the school from news articles and replays." Flipping a slide up on the projector, Pearce gestured to the insignia that was displayed. Two set squares and a T-square, in a manner reminiscent of a hammer and sickle, above which a pair of scissors were placed, all emblazoned on a red background. This image was displayed next to a picture, apparently taken from Pravda's own internet page, of a cheery girl with her hair in two pigtails, her head swamped in a brown ushanka. Her uniform was a green jacket, with a red four-pointed star on the left breast pocket, a red shirt, and a black skirt. "I think we can all tell what this school is trying to emulate."

"Pravda's name means 'the truth' in Russian," Katherine pointed out, pleased that her commitment to language class had paid off, "And with the obvious deployment of the Hammer and Sickle, it's clear this school is mimicking Soviet Russia."

"Indeed," Pearce replied. "This school thus utilises vehicles constructed in the USSR, much like Saunders used American tanks."

"So what, they're gonna throw tons of T-34s at us, like Saunders did with Shermans?" Steven asked. As a prospective paratrooper cadet, Steven was already channelling the necessary high morale, and was relishing the prospect of a good fight.

"Mostly, although it seems Pravda have a wider variety of vehicles in their arsenal than Saunders. They field both main variants of the T-34, the 76mm and the 85mm, as well as vehicles from the KV and IS families. I do not know if they have anything else they could field." A number of pictures, taken from a variety of previous matches, were called up on screen in succession. Pravda's four-pointed star was proudly displayed on the side of each of the tanks.

"So they're well-armed, that's the bottom line," Liam said, having put his book down in order to extract information from the slideshow. "We'll probably be outnumbered again."

"Most likely," Hart conceded, "But in the second round of the tournament, the ten tank limit from the previous round still applies. It is only increased to fifteen in the third round, and twenty in the final. Did you find out anything about their commander, Samuel?"

"Actually I found quite a few things on their commander, Katyusha," Pearce said, "She seems to be quite prolific, as Pravda apparently suffered a dearth of good commanders until she came along and took them to the finals three times in a row, winning once."

The Wellesley captain flipped the projector slide over to a new page, with a few different pictures on it. All of them depicted two girls in Pravda uniform, one incredibly tall, with long black hair and a pretty though impassive face, the other very small, almost childlike, with messy blonde hair. The latter's expressions varied wildly, from gleeful happiness to frustration, smugness and shock. She could also be seen on the shoulders of the taller girl in some of the pictures.

"Well I can certainly see Pravda being a fearsome opponent if they're led by someone like her," Clark said.

"She looks pretty scary, but she can't be that nasty if she's letting that other girl ride on her shoulders," Simon commented. Both Pearce and Hart, having done at least some research on Pravda, fought back the urge to smirk.

"Maybe Katyusha keeps her around as a mascot," Chris suggested, "We could try that with Sam, but he might get mad at us."

Trying to get the conversation back on track, Katherine said, "So I'm guessing that this Katyusha keeps calm under pressure and isn't overwhelmed by the unexpected? She looks pretty calm to me."

"I don't think that's the case," Pearce replied, flicking the slide over to a new one, which displayed only the shorter blonde girl, "Pravda's commander…"

"Er, Sam, I think you put the wrong picture up," Chris said, pointing at the screen. Pearce turned to look at the screen, an intrigued expression on his face.

"No, this is the right one," he replied.

There was a solid five seconds of silence. Then Katherine giggled a little, especially since she knew that 'Katyusha' being a diminutive name essentially meaning 'Little Kate' was hugely ironic in the case of the little blonde girl. This set Liam and Simon off, soon followed by every other captain in the room, even the normally displeased Clark. Pearce just scowled at his subordinates until they stopped laughing, his hands balled into fists as his irritation grew.

"So, Sam, you were saying this Katyusha girl is a commander of some stature in tankery?" Clark asked, a cheeky grin on her face. "Overcoming her might be a tall order."

The deliberate height joke was about as subtle as the machines the cadets operated, but it set the room giggling again. On looking at their team's leader again however, Clark very quickly regretted her attempt at humour. Although he wasn't the target of the joke, Pearce was looking deeply unimpressed, and one could almost see the frustration he was holding back manifest as a poisonous black aura around him. After making a step forward in her relations with Pearce, Angela couldn't help but feel she'd just undone some of that, and cursed inwardly. For Pearce, his height was something that irked him, as it had been the cause of many underestimating or patronising him both before he came to Wellesley, and a short while after. His tutors had revised their opinions quickly, but the cadet still found the idea of height being a determining factor in authority or ability to be highly annoying.

"Are there perchance any more hilarious jokes you want to throw out there Miss Clark?" Pearce asked venomously, taking the opportunity to snipe back at his second. "Because if stature makes a commander, I have to question why you're sat listening to me rather than the other way round."

Clark looked so infuriated that Hart, watching from his seat at the back, wondered if there would be a physical altercation. "I have no more jokes to make, sir," Clark got out through gritted teeth.

Both cadets took a short while to get a grip on their tempers. Since he had more practice controlling his emotions, Pearce cooled off slightly quicker, and filed away that he needed to apologise to his second after the meeting. It was unbecoming of him to lose his temper like that.

"Anyway, to get the meeting back on track," Katherine said. "What intel do you have on her?"

"She's apparently a third-year student, despite her appearance, is almost always around the taller girl, who I have been unable to identify, and has a sound tactical mind, but occasionally makes blunders. Last term, she managed to trap Oarai, the current champions, in a church, but she then chose to give them a chance to surrender. In the interim, apparently Oarai came up with a plan to escape, and broke through the blockade Katyusha had set. She was then distracted by a decoy force whilst some of Oarai's tanks tracked down Pravda's flag tank."

"It sounds like she is a classic case of a deceptive appearance," Anna commented, "We can't afford to underestimate her."

"Right, we have an idea of our opponent," Steven said, turning to Captain Hart, "Sir, do you know where our next match is to take place?"

"Yes, it came through this morning. The carrier has already corrected course and is heading North to the nearest port."

"Let me guess," Elliot spoke, for the first time in the meeting, "It's the far North, and it'll be freezing cold."

"Excellent deduction Mr Jones," Hart replied, "We're going to the far north of the Hokkaido province, where it is presently about ten degrees under. I believe there's also about three feet of snow at the moment, with more expected. The local authorities have also issued a blizzard advisory."

"Great," Katherine said, "I hate the cold."

"For now, anyway, we have concluded all we really needed to discuss for the meeting. I think it would be beneficial if we started the planning tomorrow, when we all have clear heads," Pearce said. They needed to dispel the tension that had been hanging around the room, and come back to planning with professional demeanours.

"Quite," Hart agreed, "I do have one more thing to add. In light of your request, Samuel, the headmaster has consented to a uniform change for tankery and armoured warfare students, to be worn whilst in battle. He withdrew a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it, showing the proposed uniform. The headmaster had evidently had an older British uniform reworked for the academy's colours. A dark grey/blue jacket with the academy's logo on the left breast (noted as optional if weather hot), white shirt and dark pants, with smart shoes, black socks, a belt across the middle, and a dark blue tie were to be the proposed casual uniform, and a note attached said that this might be rolled out across the academy.

The in-match uniform was to come in a number of variants. Firstly, the tie was dispensed with, and the jacket was replaced with one which buttoned up to the collar. The smart shoes were replaced with combat boots, and the pants were slightly better cut to accommodate movement. A beret was included for the sports cadets, in the same colour scheme, and sporting the academy's crest. A variety of terrain-specific uniform variants were also contained within the document, and were customised for the environment. Desert uniform was the standard sandy colour with black banding, black belt and a black collar, with shorts as an option, and a cap for sun cover. Winter uniform remained the same colour as the standard uniform. It also included black gloves, a cold weather cap, and a smart, double-breasted coat in case the temperature became uncomfortably low. A final note at the bottom said that cadets were allowed to make minor additions to uniform for comfort in matches.

"The headmaster said that these would be issued at tomorrow lunchtime in case of the standard uniforms. All environmental variants would be issued as and when needed. I take it you are all content with this redesign?" the young instructor asked, looking at each of the cadets in turn.

Hart's charges nodded, all looking satisfied with the new fatigues.

"Superb. I will inform the head that you are all pleased with the new gear. I think now is the appropriate time to adjourn for the day."

Not needing to be told twice, the captains left the room with relative haste. Pearce returned to his chair to pick up his coat, slinging the garment over his shoulder, and called out to Clark as she was leaving the room.

"Angela, a moment if you please."

Still angry, the tall woman spun on her heel and came back into the room, and stood looking off into the middle distance, over Pearce's head. She was torn between anger at Pearce's jab at her, or feeling a little guilty that she had practically invited it. Angela already knew how much Pearce's size bothered him, after all she'd been in his class since they came to Wellesley. She chose to wait until the boy in front of her spoke before passing comment.

"I apologise for the insult," Pearce said, "I understand that the captaincy is still a sore spot for you, and it was wrong for me to lash out at you in such a way."

"Understood," Clark responded. She was still a bit sour at the comment, but felt she should reciprocate the apology. "I am sorry for my poor attempt at humour. I know how much those sorts of jokes irk you."

"It is not so much the joke itself," the diminutive captain explained, "It is the sense of being patronised and underestimated that comes with small physical size that frustrates me, not the reality of it. I can't change being small, but the presumptions people make because you are smaller are infuriating."

Clark's expression softened a little. That she could empathise with. The desire to not be underestimated had driven her to strive to be the best in the academy. Some of that had come from earlier in life, at school, where he teachers had said she wouldn't amount to much. Add to that a father who was misogynistic and patronising, and one could see where the dark-haired woman's drive came from. The legacy of that was plain to see, as rather than bottle up anger like Pearce evidently did, she displayed it openly, and was openly unwelcoming to all but a few, especially the people who disrespected her.

"People like that are idiots. I honestly don't know how you refrain from shouting at people like that. Maybe you should try it, it's therapeutic."

Pearce smiled a little. "I think my voice would be hoarse within short order." Clark grinned at the statement.

The pair remained quiet for a few seconds, before departing the room, starting to head in opposite directions to each other down the corridor, but not before Clark quietly spoke to Pearce.

"I'll see you tomorrow Pearce."

"Good day, Angela."

**Carrier Zuikaku – Meeting Room – 1700hrs – Wednesday 5****th**** February**

"I take it the location of our next match has been sent through," Caesar said, as the captains were once more assembling in the Student Council's office to discuss the plans for beating St Gloriana.

Yuzu nodded. "They sent us the email a few hours ago."

Spinning across the room on her office chair, Anzu joined the conversation. "Yep, and I hope you like a nice warm climate."

"I like a nice sunbathe every once in a while," Caesar conceded. She didn't quite have the olive-skinned Italian look that her namesake had possessed, but after visiting Rome a few years previous she had certainly picked up a taste for the Mediterranean climate. It also made the loader's occasional trip to Anzio to see Carpaccio far more pleasant.

"Sorry Caesar, but I don't think this will be a place for sunbathing," Anzu said, pointing to a map which Momo had put up on the chalkboard they usually used. The others looked at it a bit strangely, given that it was a world map, and most of the various tankery leagues' matches took place within their own sovereign nations. Nekota was about to raise a tentative hand to point this out, but stopped when Anzu took a pen and drew a big 'X' on the map, right over North-Western Australia. "Ladies, the next match is taking place in the Great Sandy Desert in Australia."

The room went quiet for a few seconds, and a few of the girls present had to pick their metaphorical jaws up from the floor. The Student Council President just grinned widely at the sight. She'd been waiting for most of the day to drop that little bombshell on her teammates, and the only thing she regretted was not bringing a camera, and maybe that she didn't tell the whole team.

"Say what!" Saori shouted, "Oh my god, my skin's gonna dry out horribly in that sort of heat! And what about the all those creepy-crawlies that are supposed to live over there?"

Yukari on the other hand, was on the verge of shouting for joy. She turned and started to excitedly shake Hana, who was sat next to her. "Do you know what this means Miss Isuzu? We'll get to see Matildas, the famed 'Queens of the Desert', on their own turf! I bet you Miss Erwin'll be thrilled."

Caesar grinned at the loader. "Well, her namesake was 'The Desert Fox', so I can imagine she'll be quite pleased to try and emulate him out on the sand."

The rest of the team had fairly mixed reactions. Azusa was sort of impassive, more focused on what challenges would await them in such terrain, and trying to think strategically about what she would do if she was in command. She definitely didn't want to make any mistakes like the previous time she took command, and Miho's shoes were big ones to fill, despite the latter's dainty feet. Nakajima, who had managed to make it to this meeting because training had been less damaging than usual, was somewhat displeased. Whilst fixing tanks was an enjoyable pastime for her, the prospect of getting sand out of all the delicate components on the vehicles would make any mechanic cringe, especially given the corrosion prolonged exposure to the stuff caused.

Nekota, being used to the icy cool of an air-conditioned room whilst she played video games, was less concerned about how her tank would perform than how herself and her teammates would hold up in such a hot environment. Hana and Mako were probably the most indifferent to the declaration of the Student Council President, the former being unfazed due to her steely nerves, the latter accepting it with the same phlegmatic stoicism she usually did. At least it wouldn't be cold, like when they faced Pravda. Noriko, as one would expect, was planning at least one game of beach volleyball whilst she was there, and one could practically see volleyballs in the sporty girl's eyes.

Whilst the other members of Oarai's team got a grip on themselves after that revelation, Yuzu pulled up a terrain map which Momo began to draw on the board, using artistic skills one would not have suspected the stern PR officer to have possessed.

"So what is the general gist of the terrain here?" Noriko said. "I get that it'll be sandy, but what should we expect?"

"Whilst the dunes have been known to occasionally shift, there are certain permanent features of the terrain, primarily shielding the north-western part of the battlefield. Since the League is understandably nervous about us going to deep into the desert proper, we have the coastal plain as our primary battle ground, but it extends many miles into the desert to properly allow manoeuvre battles to take place," Momo explained.

The map showed in its top-left a thing strip of water, followed by an area marked 'Great Sandy Beach' (showing the local's penchant for literality in naming things), and then a bewildering mix of terrain lines, indicating dunes, in several spots. Large swathes of the terrain appeared to be flat ground however, open and excellent for tanks. A couple of large rock formations broke these up and dotted the map to give the battleground a sense of variety. The two deployment zones were in the South-West and the North-East, with Oarai's being the latter.

The room went quiet for a minute, with most of those present watching Miho as she stared at the map, one hand under her chin. When Miho's thinking face appeared, the other girls knew not to disrupt the easily flustered 17 year old, as her strategic insight was far too valuable to ignore.

"St Gloriana will likely attempt to manoeuvre from one open area to another in order to get to us," Miho stated, raising her head and looking around at her friends. "They like to manoeuvre in formation, presenting a strong front of armour, and the lumbering nature of their tanks, while not quite as cumbersome as those of Kuromorimine, means that they will struggle in rough terrain."

"Do you know what roster they are likely to field?" Momo pressed.

"When we faced them in the semi-finals two terms ago, St Gloriana fielded a similar roster to what we fought in our practice match. They had a Churchill and a large number of Matildas as their main force. It is also worth noting that they had a couple of lighter tanks to scout and cover their flanks."

"Those would be British cruiser tanks," Yukari piped up, before explaining further, "British tank design used to be divided into two strands: Infantry tanks and Cruiser tanks. The Infantry tanks were slow, ponderous, heavily armoured machines designed to accompany troops on foot, whilst the Cruiser tanks were to exploit breakthroughs and manoeuvre, and hence were far faster."

"So if we plan around a similar force being present, we should have a reasonable idea as to what we're doing on the day," Caesar said, "We'll not be 'gladiator in arena consilium capit'." The blank look on the faces of everyone else encouraged the girl to elaborate, flourishing her magistrate's sagum as she did so. "It means we aren't making it up on the go."

Miho nodded at the reki-jo, stood up from her seat and walked up to the board, where Momo handed her a pen, albeit reluctantly. The PR chief would still have liked to lead Oarai's team at some point, but she conceded that there were better hands to put Oarai's chances in.

"The way I see it," Miho said, "Is that we have to isolate the main enemy grouping. We'll cut off their outriders and try to lure the enemy into the rough ground, whilst a couple of our tanks bait St Gloriana around the field. If they refuse to be baited, we surround them and harry them in a series of hit and run attacks. We need our main big guns alive to take down Darjeeling's Churchill, so Leopon and Hippo, you need to be careful about exposing yourself to enemy fire and being trapped."

"So we're going with a Teutoberg forest method," Caesar mused to herself, nodding in satisfaction.

"Might I add something in Miss Nishizumi?" Yukari asked.

"Please do."

"Whilst St Gloriana's tanks might look slow and cumbersome, and especially bad at following you over rough ground, don't underestimate them. The Churchill especially has really impressive performance on a gradient, far beyond what you would expect of something its weight."

"Understood," Momo said.

"Miho, is that all we need to go over?" Anzu asked.

"We need to make sure everyone is ready for hot weather, and understands water conservation. Even if we're only out there for a short while, water is still a commodity, and I don't want people passing out from heatstroke."

"Right. I'll make sure catering puts aside the necessary stuff we need. Yuzu, could you email them now for me?"

"Yes, right away."

"There's also the matter of viewing next week's matches, if anyone fancies doing that. We can only make one of them, as the other two are on the days before and after our match. However, we can make the Pravda/Wellesley match if any of you are keen. Oh, and it's in Hokkaido, so you'll want to bring a coat."

Most of the girls did not raise their hands, but Yukari did, keen to see the T-34s of Pravda in action from a point where she wasn't the target, leading Miho to offer to accompany her. Caesar nodded, and said that a couple of her teammates might be interested. Anzu also decided, on a whim, to go, which would leave Yuzu and Momo in charge while she was gone.

Once the matter had been sorted, the girls adjourned, relatively confident that they could train up and take on the only school to have defeated them before. As they left, Anzu, still spinning in her chair, grinned at Momo.

"Y'know, this time last year we'd have been quaking in our boots at those odds, and now she's got them all fired up and ready for a battle. Miho doesn't look like much, but she's got a strong heart and a lot of talent."

Momo nodded.

"You're right," said Yuzu, coming back over from the computer she had just been working on, "But what's more surprising is the artist in our midst. Momo-chan I didn't know you could draw so well!"

"Don't call me Momo-chan!"

**Chapter End**

**I've decided to end the chapter here, to avoid POV overload. There would have been another Wellesley scene, and maybe a Pravda scene too, but I think that would have been too much bouncing around. The next chapter probably won't quite reach the matches, but will certainly finish setting the battles up appropriately. I'm also working on trying to get in the heads of some of the characters, so you can better see what drives them, or at least my interpretation of such. Saori for instance I think is a lot less of a social butterfly than she portrays herself to be, and is probably quite insecure that she might not have something special about her, unlike the other members of her team. I think her front as a 'boy chaser', especially after it is shattered by Hana, actually points to a girl who doesn't know what she wants to do, aside from be around her friends, and this scares her. So I'm trying to put her on the path to finding something special about her, other than being a bit of an outspoken boy chaser. I want to turn Girls und Panzer's 'Cast of Snowflakes' into a cast of actual characters, building on the things that draw some of them together to make them more individual.**

**It's worth noting that the characters in the series are actually pretty small if you read their bios. Actually, given that some of them are 18, like Anzu, who is about 4'9", they look preposterously tiny, even factoring in the moe tendency to have small, cutesy characters. I have chosen not to be quite that radical in my descriptions of characters. Thus Pearce, one of the smallest cadets, is about 5'1" (just under Miho's height), and Clark, one of the tallest, is 5'8" tall (a fraction taller than Nonna).**

**I also hope you were heartily impressed by this chapter, considering I cranked this out in a week now that I seem to have the inspiration for it again. (I blame Guderian). If you were wondering why Pravda gets to fight in the snow again, remember that Shiho has used a bit of her subtle influence over the match fixtures to make sure Wellesley are in for a tough time.**


	17. Chapter 17: Bait and Switch

**Hi guys its HereticalShinigami, returning with more tank-based goodness. I went down to Bovington Tank Museum recently, which has persuaded me to try and use some of my holiday to write as much as possible for you jolly good chaps and chapettes. I might have squeed at the tanks there too (especially Tiger 131), and I might upload a couple of the pictures to my profile for your viewing pleasure too, as well as to show what some of my teams are using compared to Oarai.**

**I've been a little stuck as to what to put in this chapter, aware as I am of the fact that I usually spend more time developing my characters than having them fight (it's Monty team's turn this time), so I don't want to draw it out too much, but at the same time, battle prep is vital, and I've set the scenes up for two battles in quick succession once I've got all the pre-match stuff out of the way. Still, I'll try and get some excitement into these chapters so none of you fall asleep, ne?**

**This chapter may contain: History-lovers messing about, use of sarcasm, and liberal amounts of Katyusha. You have been warned…..**

**Thursday 6****th**** February – Carrier Kiev – 1300hrs – (play March of the Defenders of Moscow)**

"It was most nice of you to invite us to spend the afternoon with you Nonna," Darjeeling commented, stepping daintily off the transport ship. She was followed in similarly graceful fashion by her orange-haired subordinate, who looked around at her new surroundings with an intrigued expression.

"It's my pleasure," the Russian girl replied, "Although she wouldn't admit it, Katyusha also enjoys your visits. It is also nice to see you again, Miss Pekoe."

The diminutive loader perked up at the pleasantry, offering a courteous smile back at Nonna. "Thank you very much for hosting, Miss Nonna," Pekoe replied, "It was very kind of you to invite me."

"Not at all, you are most pleasant company. I believe this is your first time on our carrier?"

"It is."

Nonna gave Pekoe a pleasant look, which on someone as emotionally restrained as her represented a smile. "I hope we can make you comfortable on your first visit here."

Darjeeling and Pekoe had arrived on the enormous Russian carrier about a half hour ago, met by the statuesque and cool-headed Pravda second. Used to the equally vast Ark Royal as they were, the St Gloriana girls were not fazed by the size of the Pravda carrier, especially since they had visited on more than one occasion. Unlike the very refined air of the British-themed school, however, Pravda's layout was more regimented and highly pragmatic, the accommodation and town being neat lines of completely identical buildings, homely but unadorned, with the back areas of the carrier actually being given over to a few fields. The only ostentatious building, as was to be expected, was the main school structure, which was an enormous piece of architectural work, topped by Pravda's four-pronged red star.

A half-hour walk from their arrival point brought the St Gloriana girls to the aforementioned building, whose imposing white marble architecture looked even more impressive up close. Sweeping into the lobby, the trio crossed the reception area and hopped into an elevator, which glided up a few floors before disgorging its occupants into a long corridor, carpeted in red. Darjeeling expected Nonna to take her into the last room on the left, an opulent dining space in which she had shared tea with the Pravda commanders more than once, but they were instead guided right to the end of the hallway, where the sniper opened a large oak door for them.

Stepping gracefully through the portal, Darjeeling and Pekoe immediately noticed the patently enormous desk that dominated the far end of the incredibly spacious room. Much akin to the Student Council's room in Oarai, the Pravda Command Centre boasted a workspace down the left of the room, in which a few of the students were organising the daily running of the school, as well as a comfortable seating area over to the right, in front of a fireplace. Down the centre of the room, a red carpet led up to a black desk, framed by a large window which looked out onto the school grounds. The desk had a red flag draped across one corner, bearing the school's emblem in the top left, as well as a statue of a bear, with the rest of the worktop being strewn with papers. Behind this, an imposing leather chair was stationed, the back of it facing away from the trio.

"Comrade Katyusha, I have returned," Nonna said, approaching the desk.

"About time!" an irate female voice came from behind the chair, which swung round to reveal the childlike captain of Pravda. It was fortunate that the St Gloriana girls had good self-control, or they might have laughed at the sight. Katyusha's dramatic swing round of her chair was somewhat undermined by the fact she was sat on an enormous pile of cushions so she could actually reach the desk, and that she was accompanied on her chair by a bandage teddy wearing a peaked cap with a red star on it. "Did you bring my hot chocolate?"

It took about a second after Katyusha had spun round fully before she realised that she had company. "I thought I told you before I left that I was going to escort Darjeeling and Pekoe here," Nonna said.

"Not that I recall," Katyusha shot back. The little blonde girl then looked at her guests. "Hi."

"Good afternoon Miss Katyusha," both the visiting girls replied. Pekoe was a little taken aback by Katyusha's curt greeting, being used to the polite formality of her own school and having been little exposed to the Pravda commander, but fell back on the courtesy she had been taught at St Gloriana.

"It's nice to see you again Katyusha," Darjeeling said, her usual enigmatic smile plastered onto her features. "I trust you've been well."

"Well enough," the blonde girl replied, "The School Chairman has been frustrating my attempts to acquire more tanks though. She maintains that we need to keep following his Four Year Budget." Unlike most schools, which had an external headmaster and was then run by an elected student council, Pravda had a chairman and committee which managed most of the higher level organisation of the school. The Student Council still held a lot of authority, but budgetary decisions and other important tasks were taken out of their hands, a fact which irritated Katyusha to no end as she tried to add more tanks to her already considerable arsenal.

"Would you care to have a seat?" Nonna offered the visitors, gesturing to the seating area in front of the fireplace. "I will go and acquire some refreshments for us. Tea, I take it?"

"You know us too well," Darjeeling replied.

"I'll get your hot chocolate as well, Katyusha," Nonna said, already heading for the door.

The two girls from St Gloriana occupied a pair of seats in the meeting area whilst Katyusha hurriedly dismounted her improvised seating arrangement. As the little blonde hopped into another seat facing her guests, she grinned at Pekoe, showing her fang-like canine teeth. Katyusha had immediately taken a shine to Pekoe after meeting her the first time, primarily because the orange-haired girl was also diminutive, even if not as short as Katyusha herself, as well as being polite and soft-spoken. Pekoe smiled back courteously.

"So, Darjeeling, shouldn't you be off practicing for your match?"

"Well, I couldn't refuse an invitation to have tea now could I?" the blonde girl responded.

"Still, you're up against Mihosha's Oarai, and you know how strong they are," Katyusha said, "After all, you only faced them when they were green trainees."

"We'll be ready to meet them come our match. It would be improper if we gave it less than our all, especially given the form they displayed at the end of last term's tournament." Darjeeling was prepared to go all out to take on Miho's Oarai in their matchup, not because she really wanted to win, although there was an element of that, but because of her beliefs. St Gloriana taught their students that respect for others was to be uppermost in one's mind, and in competitions it was emphasised that one should do their utmost in order to show proper respect to a challenger. Thus, whilst it was respectful to match numbers when they faced the green recruits Oarai fielded initially, it would be downright rude to not bring their A-game against last term's tournament winners. "I assume you will be likewise prepared for your upcoming battle?"

"Katyusha has been planning for this match since the fixture came through. Pravda will bring an iron curtain down on Wellesley without fail. This will not be like the match with Oarai, Katyusha will make sure of that." Though the statement gave off an air of arrogant assuredness, Katyusha was not lying that she had been preparing for the match feverishly. Since her defeat by Miho, the little blonde girl had at least in part picked up that she should never underestimate her opponents, and had thrown herself into planning and training her subordinates with appreciable vigour compared to her normal routine. She'd even sacrificed her afternoon nap a couple of times to make sure that she had her plans perfect down to the last detail.

At this point, Nonna returned with a tray of drinks, as well as a number of delectable treats. Katyusha's mug was easily identifiable compared to the others, not only because it contained hot chocolate, but because it was topped by a veritable mountain of whipped cream, sprinkled liberally with marshmallows and chocolate powder.

"Thank you Nonna," Pekoe said, receiving a gracious nod from the tall girl in acknowledgement as the two St Gloriana girls availed themselves of the teacups in front of them.

"If I recall," Darjeeling said, getting the conversation back on track, "Your match fixture is in Hokkaido. I assume the cold there will be to your benefit?"

"As much as Katyusha could beat Wellesley unassisted, General Winter will offer her his assistance," Katyusha acknowledged. "We had hoped that we might get our preferred venue, but it'll suffice. In fact, the treacherous ice in some areas might be highly beneficial, as Katyusha's tanks are well equipped to handle such conditions." The girl took a deep drink of her cocoa and placed it back down on the table. Pekoe suppressed a giggle at the cream moustache that Katyusha now sported, and Nonna reached across with a napkin to wipe the blissfully unaware girl's top lip.

"You have some cream on your top lip," Nonna said in her usual calm tone.

"You didn't have to say that!" the smaller girl retorted, although as usual she was grateful to her motherly subordinate.

"Would you rather have me left you sporting that dashing moustache?" the sniper shot back, looking faintly amused.

Katyusha huffed, and faced away from her long-time friend in mock annoyance. The action lasted for all of about three seconds, after which she turned and grabbed a biscuit off the snack tray, tucking into the treat immediately.

"So what do you reckon as to your opponents?" Darjeeling asked, curious to see if Katyusha had looked her adversaries up for once. Given that since she had taken command, Pravda had come in the top two teams every term barring the last, and given the relative familiarity each team had with each other's quirks, Katyusha had previously been fairly lax in her scouting, another thing which had cost her in the semi-finals.

"Nonna," Katyusha said, delegating the work to her subordinate whilst she snacked.

"They're a foreign military school, providing both mundane and military education to their pupils. Wellesley are also a British school, and as one would expect, field predominantly late-war British tanks, occasionally sprinkled with lend-lease and Commonwealth vehicles," Nonna answered. "Their school motto is 'Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum', or 'If you wish peace, prepare for war,' as they emphasise planning as key to a successful operation."

"That quote is from Vegetius," Pekoe said to Darjeeling, a response which was practically a reflex given her superior's tendency to throw around aphorisms and quotes. The St Gloriana commander beamed at her subordinate. "Nonna, is there any other data that you've managed to gather?"

"None that we would find useful," the dark-haired girl replied. "I don't suppose there is anything you know that you could help us with?"

The St Gloriana girls paused for a second to wrack their brains. They certainly didn't want to just give away all they knew about the Wellesley cadets, as it would be unsporting to offer Pravda additional information on their foes without extending the same courtesy to the cadets. Eventually, Darjeeling decided to offer a relatively vague titbit of info.

"The Wellesley cadets do not subscribe to the same code we do," the blonde said evasively. This was a slightly veiled hint that the military cadets were far less likely to be chivalrous than the girls of St Gloriana, as the former's training had essentially bred out that idea of 'fairness' that the latter lived by.

By this point, Katyusha had chomped her way through her fill of snacks, and began to pay full attention to the conversation again. "So you mean these British kids aren't chivalrous and polite like you?"

"Oh no, they're for the most part very polite," Darjeeling replied. "They just don't think politeness needs to be extended to everything, such as combat."

"Humph, Katyusha will teach them to mind their manners around her," the diminutive blonde declared. "Just because they won't fight fairly doesn't mean they can beat Katyusha. My KV-2 will blow them all away!" the final sentence brought an expression of glee to her face.

"Do you still use that tank?" Pekoe enquired curiously, feeling huge amounts of empathy to the poor loader that had to man the siege tank's enormous gun. Katyusha nodded, her face lit up with a happy expression at the mention of her favourite tank.

"Yeah, Katyusha has had the crew doing extra practice to make sure it's extra powerful, but the stupid chairman won't let Katyusha get any more of them," Katyusha huffed, blissfully unaware of how adorable she looked. "She says we should get more practical tanks, like ISs or T-34s."

"I'm sure if you asked nicely next time, she'd probably cave in," Nonna said. Pravda's chairman was oft considered a cold, calculating individual, but spoiled Katyusha like a daughter in terms of the influence the little blonde wielded. Before Katyusha had taken command, the committee had merely provided tanks when they saw fit, but now the tankery team submitted request lists instead, which were usually met with little resistance. Katyusha stuck her tongue out at Nonna, but filed the idea away for later use anyway.

"What about you Darjeeling? Have your school been able to get any more armour in to bolster your forces?"

"Our school has never devoted much money towards our tankery team beyond what it needs to affect repairs and maintain our fleet, so we have not been able to add any more tanks to our line-up. However, we might have some prospects for some vehicles next term, as Miss Souchong has been more than helpful in getting support from our alumni." Souchong was the current head of the alumni association for St Gloriana, and was extremely helpful in coordinating support efforts for the school from outside groups. She'd left over five years ago, but had been instrumental in securing the damaged Cromwell that St Gloriana had been repairing over the last few years.

"But we have trained up our reserve crews to the same level as the others," Pekoe supplied helpfully.

"Sounds like you need to step up your game Darjeeling," Katyusha said, a fake mocking tone in her voice. "Or Mihosha will beat you just like she did Katyusha, Saunders and Kuromorimine."

Before Darjeeling could offer a reply, Nonna stepped in. "More tea, Darjeeling, Pekoe?"

"Yes please," both answered simultaneously, holding out their cups.

**Carrier Dauntless – Friday 7****th**** February – 1700hrs**

"This is Montgomery, go ahead Clinton." The radio crackled to life in the latter's Cromwell. Caitlin was listening in intently to the wireless set, as Katherine was impatient for orders.

"Montgomery, we've been in position for twenty minutes, what are our orders?" the auburn-haired guitarist asked. The cruiser tank had been sat in a copse of trees on the right flank for quite some time, and there had been neither sight nor sound of enemy activity for equally as long. Katherine was stood up in her cupola with a pair of binoculars, whilst the rest of the crew tensely waited on tenterhooks for action.

"Sam says we need to cover this flank for now, so you're going to have to wait a while longer Clinton," Jo replied in a sympathetic tone.

Wellesley had gone out for practice as usual, but this time Hart had deployed them into mock battle with each other rather than proficiency work. As expected, Pearce and Clark were captaining the teams, with Montgomery, Clinton, Allenby and Wavell with the former, and Marlborough, Russell, Campbell, Hobart and Roberts under Clark. Seeking to pin down Clark's strategy, Pearce had spread out his tanks to gather information, leaving each vehicle to conceal itself and keep watch, as he expected Clark to embark on an ambitious offensive, as per her usual style. Clinton team were concealed on the right flank, hidden deep in a copse, and the crew had made efforts to further conceal their tank with spare brushwood and foliage.

"Well guys you'd better get used to this, because we're not going anywhere for the time being," Caitlin relayed to her teammates, who sighed. Rosie pulled out a pad of paper and a pen, only to have Katherine take them out of her hands a second later.

"What? We aren't gonna be in action for a while. I was gonna continue working on that blues piece you wanted to practice."

Katherine fixed her with a serious look. "Just because we aren't being ordered in doesn't mean we can stop being alert. We could be attacked at any point and have to be ready to react."

"Okay." Rosie looked thoroughly dejected as she stowed her writing equipment, and Katherine couldn't help but feel guilty, even though she was correct in chiding her loader for inattentiveness.

"Rosie is half-right though Katherine," Alice said, "I'm so damn bored! It should be time for decisive action now, but instead we've been sitting her for ages!

Katherine internally sighed. Sometimes she wished Wellesley was a school for officer training only, like Sandhurst, rather than offering broader education, as some of her compatriots lacked discipline. In another way though, she was glad, because a school full of consummate professionals would have been a great deal less fun to be in. In offering that broader education within a military context, Wellesley encouraged a wider variety of students to sign up, ranging from those who wanted the military training, to those who the regimentation and strong academic credentials appealed. Katherine fell a little way into both, in that she wanted the best education she could get, but was also considering a military career. She could already tell from the rest of her team that at least one of the others would never join the military, possibly more.

What staggered the young woman however was that all of them had taken to tankery in a way that some had not managed with their actual military training. Someone like Rosie, who was kindly nearly to the point of pacifism, was totally fine with hurling shells at opponents in tankery, but had almost point blank refused to handle weapons for range shooting. Was it because of the safety measures involved, or was it because tankery was clearly differentiated from actual combat?

Katherine was stirred from her musings when she caught the faint grumble of engines on the wind, along with the slightest whiff of petrol. Bringing her binoculars up, she scanned the middle distance, catching sight of Marlborough and Hobart teams rolling over a rise, obviously attempting a flanking manoeuvre. The enemy seemed unaware of the presence of Clinton team and continued their advance as Katherine looked on. Caitlin immediately signalled the other tanks on the team, requesting orders.

"Do not engage unless fired upon. Continue to monitor the enemy and keep us posted on their movements. If necessary, shadow them, but do not engage." Pearce's clipped tone left no room for argument, but elicited more groans of irritation from the now-impatient Clinton team.

On the left flank of the team's line, Wavell team had bedded down on a hill, the turret of their Achilles just poking over the ridgeline.

"I spy, with my little eye…. Ow! Amy, why d'ya do that?" Chris whined, nursing the bruised shin he'd just acquired from his temperamental driver. Looking at her sister sat next to him, he received little sympathy. A swift glance at Olivia yielded similar results.

"That was the sixteenth time you've tried playing this game since we got here! Just be quiet, or heaven forbid, do your job!" Amy shouted from the front of the vehicle. Chris pouted, but pulled out his binoculars and went to scan the horizon.

Popping up from the top hatch, the tall cadet gazed around his surroundings with an appraising eye. The section of Pearce's cordon that Wavell team was guarding was well suited to the speedy Achilles, being rolling without too steep gradients, whilst preserving a number of vantage points for the 17-pdr, and Chris thought through a few potential strategies that could be deployed should the tank destroyer come under fire. Most involved speeding off, losing the enemy, and then returning fire from a nice safe spot in the distance, a strength of the tank to which Wavell team were by now well-accustomed.

Aside from Clinton and Wavell teams, the remaining two tanks of the team led by Pearce were also on high alert. Allenby team had been stationed on a hill in the centre of the line, relatively exposed so as to be a clear withdrawal point as well as a magnet for enemy fire. The robust armour of the Churchill, and the clear vision lines enjoyed by the crew made assaulting such a vehicle far less of an attractive prospect than one might consider a single isolated tank to be. Liam was also maintaining a relatively keen watch, having bookmarked his page in Nicholas Nickleby so as not to distract his attention. His crew however, were hotly debating which Dickens book was actually the most meritorious, with Bethan pressing a strong case for A Tale of Two Cities.

"I'm telling you, no-one can beat A Christmas Carol!" Lizzie shouted in response. Liam grinned, slowly turning around in his cupola to watch the horizon whilst listening to the amusing arguments of his team.

Quite in contrast to the exposed Churchill, the Tiger of Montgomery team hadn't been seen by either team for quite a while. Deducing that Clark would play the aggressor and expect him to play the defence, Pearce had decided to not fight a combat at all. His four tanks had separated and maintained observation, avoiding contact. The obvious target, Allenby team, was right in the middle of the team's line, and any attacker would be enveloped by reserves from all quarters if combat began.

"Stephen, hug the tree line and keep us out sight. Low speed."

"Understood."

Following Pearce's line of thought, and also a way of testing his teammates further, the bespectacled cadet had brought his own team forward, in an attempt to break into the enemy line. Stephen had performed this task admirably so far, gently coaxing the 56 ton behemoth through the woods at a steady pace, whilst minimising the noise from the 12 cylinder Maybach engine. Behind the stoic driver, Liam was slouched in his seat, lazily drinking from a canteen he'd brought with him, occasionally looking through his reticule to check for targets. Liam knew that if any movement occurred in front of the tank, his best mate would alert him immediately, so took the opportunity to relax.

"No movement, Ste?" Liam inquired.

"None thus far. I'll keep you posted."

Liam and Stephen had gotten acquainted with each other shortly after enrolling at Wellesley. Stephen wasn't much of a people person, and usually sought a comfortable place to reflect, far away from other people. Usually this was the gardened roof of the main academy building, where few students ever ventured, but a couple of weeks into term the quiet cadet had found his usual haunt occupied by another cadet, who was lying down in the grass and gazing at the clouds. As he'd turned to leave, Stephen had been stopped and beckoned over by the relaxing teen. Neither had really said much to each other the first few times they'd been together, just enjoying the silent companionship of their counterpart, but the pair had gradually opened to each other, and a strong bond had formed as a result.

Of course, as one would expect, the duo's favourite place to relax had not always been isolated. Occasionally, other students could be found lounging in the shade of the trees on the roof, and at those times, Stephen and Liam would vacate the premises. Except once. After about eight months at Wellesley, the pair had retired to the roof to watch the clouds together as they normally would at lunchtime, only to find they were not alone in escaping up there. Sat, hunched over a fairly battered book was a fairly recognisable figure from their class. Few students wore a trenchcoat after all. He glanced up at the two as they wandered over, and made to leave, but Liam made him sit back down, saying he wasn't bothering anyone. Whilst Pearce had sat there reading, Liam and Stephen had gazed at the clouds. They did so again the next day, an unspoken agreement not to disturb each other.

That incident had been nearly two years ago, and while Stephen and Liam could confidently declare themselves best friends, the same could not be said of their relationship with Pearce. The latter was quiet, but unlike the other two was also reserved, and neither Liam nor Stephen were willing to force matters, meaning that they had learned comparatively little about Pearce. The pair had actually been surprised when they had been chosen as part of the crew for Montgomery team, but took the selection as a rather touching show of faith from the diminutive cadet.

"Andrew, keep those APCR rounds at the ready. I doubt we'll need HEAT shells for now."

"Aww, I thought we'd be doing a little sniping," the loader replied, gazing longingly at the 10-shell rack filled with HEAT rounds. Since they'd got a new load of ammunition in, Andrew had been champing at the bit to throw around the specialised rounds they could now carry. Attempts to explain to the excitable loader that the tungsten-core and hollow charge rounds were difficult to get hold of had been futile.

"Gee, Andy, what would we snipe? Trees?" Liam drawled sarcastically. Andrew flipped off the gunner in mock anger.

"Maybe if your eyes were more than half-lidded, we might be able to do some sniping you lazy git," the sci-fi lover retorted. Liam stuck his tongue out at his colleague.

In the communicator's position Jo was trying her hardest not to start giggling at her immature teammates, a battle she was steadily losing. She hoped they stopped bantering soon or she wouldn't be able to concentrate on keeping in contact with the rest of the team. Fortunately, radio systems were one of the few things the league didn't insist on being perfectly accurate, so at least Jo knew she could rely on another crew member picking up transmissions as well. Musing on that point, the cheery communicator knew that some other teams were probably even more fortunate with the radio situation, given that teams like Maginot would probably be using signal flags if they were forced to use fully authentic equipment.

The Tiger finally cleared the perimeter of the woods into what would have been Clark's deployment zone had this been a proper match, rolling forward whilst hugging the terrain as best as possible. As expected, the area was clear of any enemy vehicles, Clark having gone on the offensive as swiftly as possible after the start of the practice. When the tank rolled to a stop in an advantageous position, Jo popped the front hatch open and addressed Pearce.

"Err, Sam, why did we pull this manoeuvre? I mean you told us that we were going to be defensive this match, so why did you bring us over here?"

"I wanted to see how good you guys have gotten."

"But only Stephen's really been doing anything thus far… I mean Liam and Andrew have just been arguing, and I've not really done much."

Pearce rested his hands on the rim of his cupola. "I will admit that I was hoping Angela would be brazen enough to send some of her crews right down the middle to attack us, which would have given us some action, so you're probably right about Liam and Andrew being lazy. With regards to yourself however, I have no complaints regarding your conduct or competence." To most, the latter line would be damning by faint praise indeed, but given the Wellesley captain's high standards, the compliment was not lost on the communicator.

"Hey Sam! Are we going to just sit here all day or are we gonna go kick some ass?" Andrew hollered from inside the tank.

"Well, I'm sure you could always get out and walk if you don't like what we're currently doing," Pearce replied, a small grin on his face, invisible to his crewmates inside the vehicle.

Still, Andrew did raise a good point. The longer Monty team sat around and waited, the more likely they were to be discovered, or for their compatriots to be attacked. With that in mind, Pearce ordered Stephen into action, having the stoic cadet take them south-west, in the direction of his team's right flank, where they had spotted the Comet and one of the Churchills. Caitlin, sat at her wireless set in the Cromwell, kept Pearce posted on the enemy's movements.

At the same time, it seemed Wavell team was playing a game of lethal hide-and-seek with the other echelon of Clark's force, fleeing from Roberts, Russell and Campbell teams towards the centre ground, where Allenby team's Churchill waited.

"We're taking a little bit of fire over here," Chris reported in, sounding totally unconcerned. "Looks like Angie's put most of her force down this flank."

"I take it you're delaying them and falling back, as ordered?"

"Oh but of course."

"Superb," Pearce said, before addressing a different team, "Katherine, if you and your team wouldn't mind engaging the tanks you've been shadowing, we can truly get this match underway."

Inside Clinton team's Cromwell, the five music lovers were a little confused by the order. Their team, with a tank whose armament would struggle to even pierce the armour of the two vehicles they were facing, were being told to engage. Surely the attack would be suicidal?

"But Sam, we can't do this," Katherine shot back with a questioning tone, "We have neither the gun nor the armour to take on one of these, let alone both."

"I don't require you to defeat them, just hold their forces in that area for now."

"Well ok, but I don't think I can give you long."

"That will do." Pearce cut the radio link, leaving Clinton team to look at one another with somewhat apprehensive gazes.

At length, Katherine affected a stern look. "Right! Let's get to work! Sean, get us in close, we'll run a few rings around them and then vanish. Rosie, I want those shells loaded fast, and Alice, I want that gun to be blazing away. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am!" the crew hollered back. As soon as the quietly rolling cruiser tank crested a small rise, with the two target tanks in full view, Sean slammed the accelerator to the floor and sent the Cromwell hurtling towards Hobart and Marlborough teams, who to their credit, had spotted the danger immediately. Since it was only one tank attacking them, Katherine caught Simon doing a full rotation in his cupola to see if there were any other ambushing units lying in wait for them, his train of thought obviously pointing out the foolishness in one tank attacking in full view on its own.

Moments later, the Cromwell's 75mm spoke, sending a round sailing between the two targets. Caught slightly on the halt, the response was equally muted and inaccurate, sending two plumes of dirt into the air some way behind the charging British tank. No sooner had one round gone though was another fired, filling the air with the sound of explosive recoil. Glancing back inside her steed, Katherine watched Rosie hurling shells into the receiver with machine-like efficiency, allowing Alice to maintain a terrifying rate of fire.

"Here comes the scary part!" Sean shouted, his foot still hard down on the accelerator.

The Cruiser tank hurtled into the gap between the Churchill and the Comet, the two opponents already beginning to correct their position so they could engage one more. Katherine just revelled in the moment as her turret began to swing round, Alice already keen to lob some more shells at her classmates. Her gun spoke twice more, receiving equal return fire, before the Cromwell vanished over the lip of a ridge and out of sight. The crew each took a minute to let their pulses normalise whilst Sean brought the tank around again, before urging him back into the breach after some speedy repositioning.

The frenetic pace of combat was maintained for some time as Clinton team maintained their harassment of their colleagues. A few rounds had screeched past or narrowly avoided the Cromwell during that time, whilst the team had planted a couple of shells into their targets, to no effect on the thick armour plate of the Comet and especially the Churchill VII. Sean was bringing them round for another pass when the radio crackled once more into life.

"Good job, Clinton team, you've performed your task admirably."

"But we haven't beaten them yet!" Caitlin returned, a tad perplexed by the statement.

"Ah, but you have."

Bringing their mount back around to resume their attack, Clinton team began to accelerate as they had done for all their previous attack runs. This time, as the Cromwell closed, a shot rang out from the distance, ploughing into the flank of Hobart team. Squinting, Katherine perceived the hulking form of Tiger 131, nearly a mile distant.

"You bought sufficient time for my team to redeploy to assist you."

Inside the Tiger, the crew were exulting in their long-range shooting. Liam was leant back in his chair grinning at the marksmanship he'd just displayed, whilst Andrew was gazing at the APCR rack, which now had one of the shells missing. Jo was offering some polite applause to the gunner, and Stephen offered his friend a high-five.

"A superb hit, Mr Anderson," Pearce congratulated, "Now do it again."

The loss of their partner tank had caught Marlborough team a little flat-footed, but they recovered admirably, manoeuvring to try and put both of their opponents in their frontal arc whilst laying down a barrage of fire to cover themselves. Still, with Clinton's Cromwell zipping back and forth with impunity, it was only a matter of time until the heavy tank was forced to surrender. The final shot came from about 700m out, with Liam planting an 88mm shell neat-as-you-please on the round side doors of the MkVII.

"Right, now let's go save Chris," Pearce muttered.

**After the session – 1830hrs**

It had taken another hour to finish the match after the initial engagement. Wavell team had attempted to lead Clark's force into a head-on battle with their own team, but the temperamental captain was having none of it, in an astonishingly level-headed display, and she had pulled back into a guerrilla warfare style engagement of her own. The lengthy game of hide-and-seek that had followed claimed five of the seven participating tanks, with only Allenby team fully functional at the end. Tiger 131 had been immobilised and thus had to be retrieved with the rest of the wrecks.

As the team steadily assembled on the plaza to be addressed by Hart in the usual perfunctory dismissal, Pearce looked with pride at the rest of his team, not that they could tell. They'd done admirably in his mind, though he would never voice it, and had taken to their roles like ducks to water. It had been especially satisfying to see his lazy gunner, who he had feared would be ineffectual given his sleepy and relaxed nature, hammer shells into targets from extreme range, taking advantage of those superb German optics, and the massive power of the 88mm cannon of their Tiger.

Similar fears had occupied his mind over the selection of Andrew as his loader. Pearce had found the tall lad to be easily distracted, not someone that you might want performing the sometimes mind-numbing task of loading a gun. Still, it seemed the sci-fi obsessed cadet had found his focus, and while by no means the fastest operator on the team, Liam had never found himself wanting for shells to hurl at the enemy.

By this point, Hart had finished his usual address to the team, and dismissed them for the evening. There was no captains' meeting this evening, Hart feeling like his charges deserved their rest. As the cadets trooped away, Pearce approached his instructor.

"Sir, might I make a request?"

The theoretician eyed his student appraisingly, before smiling. "Of course Samuel, what can I do for you?" Truth be told, Hart had felt somewhat redundant in the last few meetings, as his cadets already knew almost as much as he did with regards to the sport and the practice of it. He still coordinated the practices and offered advice during the meetings, but his role as an 'instructor' seemed increasingly limited. For a student to approach him for help was appreciated.

"I was wondering if the simulation room was available at any point for me to run a few mock-ups of the plan for the Pravda battle."

The 'simulation room' Pearce was referring to was a studio with computer modelling equipment and a map table, used by officers for tactical practices. While it was usually used to look at defence strategies for across entire countries, the bespectacled teen evidently intended to use it for a more in-depth analysis of how the coming match could go.

"I don't think it's in use at all this term," Hart replied, wracking his brains to try and remember the teaching rota for the term. "I'll check the timetable, but I'm sure we'll be able to get you a slot. Will you need any assistance to simulate the other team?"

"Hey, Pearce! I nearly had you today, you must be slipping!" Clark hollered across the plaza as she was departing.

Turning back to Hart, Pearce gave him a somewhat disconcerting smile. Mostly because he rarely smiled. "I think I know who's going to assist me already," the cadet said, "Thank you for your help sir. I will see you tomorrow."

"Good evening, Samuel."

Pearce swept off, his coat trailing behind him in the light breeze that was sweeping the deck. He strode quickly to catch up with his second-in-command, before laying out his plan for a tactical exercise. Clark had grinned at the proposition, intent on shooting apart Pearce's plans with ruthless precision.

"They're more similar than they realise," Hart said to himself. "Only one's a bit louder than the other."

**Carrier Zuikaku – Saturday 8****th**** February – 1630hrs**

"Geez, practice has been ruthless lately," Oryou said, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow before massaging her aching arms. Oarai had been practicing most days of the week since the tournament started, and the harsh manoeuvring that Hippo team had been practicing had taken a toll on the reki-jo's arms.

"Sweat saves blood," Erwin declared, quoting her namesake sagely. "An hour of digging is preferable to a minute of pain."

"Virtus Tentamine Gaudet," Caesar agreed. "Strength rejoices in the challenge."

The Hippo team girls were walking home, having been dismissed minutes prior by Miho, the quartet accompanied by Yukari, who Erwin had invited over for tea. Given the exhaustion they were feeling after a hard day of practice, very little was said until they reached the house, the five high-schoolers crashing into chairs or cushions as soon as they stumbled through the door.

"Who's taking first shower?" Saemonza asked, all of the StuG crew looking at each other in a kind of pseudo-Mexican standoff.

"Should we play a game for it?" Oryou suggested.

"Sounds fair to me," Caesar replied.

"How about-"

"We are not doing Mahjong, Oryou!" Saemonza shouted passionately, "It took long enough last time!" Yukari nearly face faulted at the reki-jo's shout.

None of the room had noticed by this point that Erwin had already vanished. They realised approximately thirty seconds of arguing later when the sound of the shower started to carry downstairs.

"Damn her cunning!" Caesar exclaimed. "Truly channelling her namesake's fox-like intelligence."

"Indeed, her kitsune-like trickery is certainly being well-deployed," Oryou agreed.

Yukari gave fully in to the temptation to sweat-drop. There was dedication to emulating your chosen hero, but then there was Hippo team. It made the Anglerfish team loader feel comparatively normal when arrayed against the four reki-jo she'd become closer to recently.

A short while later Erwin reappeared, her hair still heavy with water from her ablutions. No longer bound into the cute but gravity-defying 'Fennec Fox' look she usually sported, her hair cascaded down just past her shoulders, greatly altering her appearance. In fact, now she was devoid of her usual reki-jo trappings, instead decked out in a cream top and a pair of jeans, Yukari could say that the StuG commander looked quite striking.

Similar sentiments echoed through the loader's head as the rest of Hippo team took their turns in freshening up. Of all of them, it was Oryou who surprised her most. With her hair let down from its normal short ponytail and her glasses removed to prevent them steaming up, the history lover looked stunning, as feminine and graceful as her namesake. As Saemonza came back to join her friends in the living room, Erwin tapped Yukari on the shoulder.

"I almost forgot my manners," she said, handing her a towel. "Feel free to use the bathroom if you want to freshen up."

Yukari turned and nodded her thanks, but internally was a little nervous. Her friends' looks once they cleaned up were fantastic, and it made her feel a little self-conscious. Shrugging it off, she headed upstairs, only making one wrong turn as she did so, leading to her near-impalement on a pilum when she stumbled into Caesar's room.

A short while later, the tank enthusiast, now feeling refreshed, descended the stairs. She'd untangled her normally unruly hair, despite knowing full well it would simply return to its messy state the next day after she slept. Yukari's brown locks now framed her face nicely, and were complimented by the muted green shirt she was wearing, replete with T-34 design on the front, and the camouflage three-quarter lengths she'd paired it with.

"Smartly dressed as usual, Guderian," Erwin complimented, causing Yukari to flush. She wasn't usually complimented on her appearance, and the unexpected comment caught Yukari off guard.

As Yukari was getting comfortable at the table with Erwin, who was discussing the steady evolution of the Panzer IV with the loader, Saemonza returned from the kitchen with a platter of snacks. Placing it on the table, she retired to a cosy chair in the corner of the room, picking up her yumi bow and examining it to check for any sign of weakness in the laminated piece. Opposite her, Caesar had produced an amphora from somewhere, which she was using to serve grape juice to the rest of her friends, pouring six cups. Yukari was about to ask why the sixth cup had been poured when Caesar took one of them outside and poured the contents into the yard.

"It's a libation," Oryou explained, looking up from some needlepoint, "The Romans would offer a cup of wine to the gods at meals for their continued blessing."

"Fortunately we've convinced her not to pour it on the carpet," Saemonza added, inferring that it may have happened on a prior occasion. A look from Erwin told Yukari that the gunner wasn't kidding. Caesar shot the pair a fake-outraged look.

"Says the one who wanted to practice her kyudo inside," the Roman-mimicking girl shot back.

"At least I didn't try building a ballista in the yard," Saemonza retaliated.

"That was one time!" Caesar shouted, "What about when you were practicing yari techniques on watermelons? It took three separate washes to clean the windows!"

"Oh that's it!" Saemonza sprang out of her chair, "Get your gladius, legionary-girl, we're taking this outside!"

"Bring it on, brutum fulmen!" With that, the two girls sprinted upstairs to get their armour on, leaving an utterly confused Yukari behind them. Sensing her confusion Oryou sought to shed some light on the situation.

"Brutum fulmen is a Latin proverb meaning 'senseless thunderbolt'," she said, "It basically is a way of saying that a threat is empty, or meaningless."

"That's not what I was confused about," Yukari replied.

"Oh, right. If you meant the fighting, it seems to be a bi-weekly occurrence between the two of them. They'll argue a little, grab their kit, fight for a bit, and then come back inside like nothing happened."

"We don't usually end up involved," Erwin pointed out, "Mainly because neither I nor Oryou can or want to own weapons."

"It'd be a bit one-sided if you brought an MG-42 to one of those fights, ne?" Yukari joked.

A couple of crashes from upstairs heralded the return of the two bickering reki-jo, who were still slinging banter back and forth. Saemonza was geared up in a full set of o-yoroi armour, and apparently had brought a naginata with her. Caesar was no less heavily armed and armoured, with a set of lorica hamata and a cassis on her person, whilst brandishing a gladius and a shrunken down scutum.

"Oryou, get out here!" Saemonza shouted as they barrelled past, "You're refereeing!"

With a sigh, the bespectacled girl rose from her seat, tying her hair back as she did so, and padded outside to watch her friends fight.

"Shall we go and watch?" Yukari asked. Erwin shook her head.

"Maybe in a little while. I wanted to ask you a couple of things first Guderian."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. I'm worried about going to Hokkaido to watch the match there."

"Why?"

The blonde shifted in her seat a little uncomfortably. Her hair by this point had sprung back up into its normal 'fox-ears' look. "I know I was all confident about seeing Sam again, but I'm actually quite nervous. I don't know what to say to him. I don't want it to be like the last time I saw him, and I don't know how much he's changed."

Yukari's expression softened. "Just say what your heart thinks. If he is your friend, surely that'll bring him round."

"It's just, he was so cold when he spoke to Miho and the others, I was worried that he'd changed so much I'd lost him entirely," Erwin said, looking a bit downcast. "He always said his family legacy was important, and how he intended to live up to it one day, but it was always with good intent, that he would do it his way. But when I saw him, it looked like all that life and determination was gone."

"Even if he has changed a little, he'll still share the memories you have of each other," Yukari counselled, "Sure he might be a little distant at first because you've been apart for so long, but I'm sure if you just remind him of what used to be, he'll come round."

Erwin smiled at her friend. "We did spend a lot of time together," she said. "A lot of it was spent at mine because his parents never really warmed to me, but we also went on loads of cool trips together. One time, we went on a trip to Tsuchiura, supposedly to do some shopping, but we went to the tank museum there instead, and spent the day wandering round. Actually, I don't think there's a museum in the Kanto region we didn't go to, and a few others besides."

"Wow! I wish I could have gone to all those, but I never really had anyone to go with…" Yukari went from impressed and a little excited to downcast in an eye-blink. "It was usually just my parents who went with me."

Erwin put an arm round the loader's shoulder and offered her a sympathetic look. "You know, if you want someone to go with you to museums next time, just call us. I don't just mean me, I'm pretty sure none of the others would have any qualms about accompanying you either. I know Saemonza's been itching to go the Iga-Ryu ninja museum for some time now, and would love some company."

"Really?"

"Of course! We'll never turn away fellow history lovers."

For about a minute, the pair were quiet. The sounds of steel clashing could still be heard from outside, but to avoid anyone overhearing the blonde leant in close to Yukari.

"Thanks for being supportive, Yukari. I know we've not been close for very long, but it makes me happy that I can talk to you about things. My housemates, even though I spend all my time with them… Well they'd probably overreact or something if I got emotional in front of them, so I'm glad I can confide in you."

Were it a darker room, Yukari's cheeks could have been used as a light source all their own. The messy-haired brunette blushed an incredible shade of crimson at the statement from her classmate, as she was not at all used to the kind of closeness and intimacy Erwin had just displayed. Not even Miho was so open and willing to confide in her, although that could perhaps be attributed to the latter's shy nature. Trying to respond, more eloquent words failed her, so Yukari settled with enthusiasm over eloquence.

"You can count on me, Miss Erwin!" The reki-jo smiled.

"Sehr gut. Now come on, Guderian, we should get outside before Caesar and Saemonza finish beating each other up. It's actually quite a show when they fight."

Grabbing her glass, Yukari followed Erwin out of the screen door into the garden to join Oryou in spectating.

**Carrier Dauntless – Monday 10****th**** February - 1600hrs**

"So why have you dragged me here Pearce?" Clark asked, gazing in an unimpressed manner around the room. A large number of computers lined the walls, whilst a large table dominated the central space.

"Quite simple Miss Clark. I want to test out some strategies for our match with Pravda, and you are the best person to fill the role of the opposite team," Pearce said, letting the final comment stoke Clark's ego a little in order to mollify her.

"So how do you intend to do that?"

"I asked the technical engineers a couple of days ago to recreate the tactical map and situations of the field for our match using a watered-down version of the program they run defence simulations on. So," Pearce explained, putting a USB drive into the main computer system, "We can use this display to think about tactics, with you taking the role of Pravda so as to challenge me to think up alternatives."

A short time later the display table flickered into life, giving a detailed rendering of the Hokkaido battlefield including foliage and gradient lines. A series of blocks denoted which tanks were which on different teams. Pearce had provided the techs with an estimated order of battle for Pravda, with a mix of mostly T-34s, accompanied by a KV-2 and an IS-2. He'd gambled on Pravda not having more than one IS-2 or KV-2, given what they'd used in the previous round, and hoped that it would pay off.

"Apparently the techs wanted to use the simulator program here to design a game on the side," Pearce commented off-handedly, seeing the very game-like display, "The headmaster told them it would be a breach of security."

"Who cares? Enough bandying words about Pearce, I've got a game to humiliate you at!" Apparently Angela's competitive side was flaring up again.

"Well, if you want to jump in without knowing how to operate the system, you are of course more than welcome," Pearce said dryly.

Clark glared at her superior, who just ignored the action and began to explain how the map table worked. It was linked back to other terminals, each of which controlled a specific faction, much like one would in a game, and one could input more complex commands via keyboard and mouse, as well as limiting the tactical view so more deceptive strategies were an option. The room usually supported ten cadets and three teaching staff, some of whom would stand at the table and consider the wider picture, while others would be operating the more limited displays around the walls. Pearce found himself wishing that he'd brought the rest of the captains with him at this point; it would make operating the damn thing so much easier.

Nevertheless, once they'd got the terminals working, and set the simulation up as they wanted, the duo managed to achieve some quite effective results, especially when they convened to look at the replays. Whilst the tactical room was better suited to high level strategy teaching than it was low level combat simulation, given the limitations of the program they were running, it did enable the captains to get a good feel for how a match might play out, especially since the techs had really put a lot of thought into their design work.

The sun was setting by the time the pair finished running the tests they wanted to. The final game had been the tensest out of all of them. Typically, the simulation had been characterised by Pearce's usual passive style of opening, much like his chess style, something Liam would attest to. In the battle of patience, Clark had lost hers first nearly every single time, which led to her launching an attack even though she didn't know where elements of her opponent's force were. She would inevitably suffer for this in varying degrees when Pearce's hidden units decided to strike, eliminating her units with precision. It was fortunate that they'd agreed beforehand to play the matches at a little faster pace, or they'd have only been on the third game at this point.

This was something Clark had noticed. Whilst most would have pegged her to be rather imperceptive, given her mercurial nature, Clark saw that Pearce's forces would only strike if there was certainty of victory, only when they had her forces surrounded or locked into a kill-zone. Almost all other moves would be deception or manoeuvre. Eventually, the cunning second-in-command started to use this to her advantage, making sure that her units were never exposed enough for a combat to be certain, moving in large groups, well supported by flank security and recon. The third game especially would have probably taken most of the day if played out in an actual match.

But the final simulation the pair played out was the most telling. This time Clark kept a lid on her patience. She was challenging Pearce to go on the offensive first, something he had simply refused to do, not only in the simulations they were running, but in other hypothetical scenarios they had run. Pearce liked to gather information, Clark surmised, before making any kind of moves on the enemy.

'A calculated decision is the only decision he will make,' she thought.

Obviously, by forcing the diminutive cadet onto the offensive, and by concealing her own vehicles in the manner Pearce had been doing in the previous games, Clark was obliging Pearce to stop considering everything before he made moves, and go with his gut. This was where the two differed hugely: Clark was an impulsive commander – she considered feasibility, but she also accepted the random hand of chance in a battle, and that sometimes she had to go with what felt right, whilst Pearce refused to accept chance as a factor in his strategies. If there was a possibility of failure, the plan was to be rethought until it would succeed in an optimal fashion.

In the tactical room, the stress of having to recalculate his plans constantly was getting to Pearce. Clark had him pegged, and was looking distinctly smug as he looked across the room at her. Presently, Pearce had a two-echelon attack force moving forward, probing for opponents cautiously and trying to cover every possible angle, forcing the advancing tanks to a snail's pace. Even worse, the weather generator on the game had provided for snowfall to pick up, limiting visibility. As soon as the weather showed further signs of worsening, the dark-haired second struck. T-34s went barrelling into the combat zone, guns blazing, and forced Pearce's advance to a screeching halt.

Clark grinned, gazing at her display on the screen. Her superior had actually started withdrawing from his advance, rolling steadily backwards in search of a safer haven. Now that his careful planning was netting him nothing, Pearce was flagging. She kept pressing him until the match became little more than a brawl, deteriorating into a number of tank-on-tank combats at close range. The game ended with three tanks left to Pravda, and Wellesley being wiped out.

"I think we'll call it there," Pearce said, rotating away from his terminal with a sigh.

"You're damn right we're calling it there," Clark growled, storming across the room. She grabbed the smaller cadet by the scuff of the neck. "What was that little shit-storm you just showed there? I know you can do better than that Pearce! Explain! Why were you so disorganised!" She dropped her classmate so he could recompose himself.

"I had no information to go on, I tried to regroup, and you pressed my forces hard whilst I tried to rally. That's all there is to it."

"Bullshit! You had some information to go on! Sure some details were missing, but you know what works in place of a few missing details?" Clark smacked Pearce in the torso. "Heart! Your gut! You aren't a fucking robot, so try and make connections. Make leaps of faith, try things on impulse, because you can do better."

"Sun Tzu said that you should know the enemy and yourself to attain victory. I need the full scope of a situation to form a perfect plan."

"You aren't gonna get that in the field! A perfect plan doesn't exist, and you know it."

Pearce looked as close to angry as one could discern from his normally impassive features. "That can't stop me trying. If I can't get guarantee my plans working that means I can't guarantee victory, and that is something I cannot allow. I doubt you would understand that," he commented bitterly.

Clark punched him this time, hard, doubling the smaller cadet over, before kneeling down to whisper into the hurt boy's ear. "I'm not sure if you remember, but my shithead of a father is counting on me failing here just so he can say 'I told you so'. I can't afford to lose, and you'd do well to remember that." She picked Pearce back up and set him on his feet. "But you've piqued my interest. So tell me why you can't afford to lose."

"Well it looks like we are in the same boat then. I also cannot afford to fail a single class, or I will be forced to leave the academy," Pearce said, adjusting his glasses and attempting to look like he hadn't just been walloped by someone half a foot taller than him. "My parents don't want me at the school full stop, and the school rules say that if I fail even one course, they have the right to take me out of the school. I want to stay here, and I'll be damned if I let my parents stop me from doing that, so I have to win."

The dark-haired girl's temper had almost entirely dissipated at the revelation. She was still a little angry at Pearce for his assumptions regarding her situation, but Clark couldn't help but feel a little sympathy for her counterpart, being put in the situation he was.

"Then get your shit together. You made several glaring mistakes for various reasons, but the two main ones need addressing now. First, stop treating this like a tactical exercise. You can't account for every variable, I don't care how smart you are, it's just not possible to work everything out perfectly, there are just too many factors. Got it?" Clark glared straight into the shorter cadet's eyes until he nodded, then proceeded to her second point. "Second, you had loads of chances to exploit things around you, but you refused. The short skirmish we fought in the village is the best example. You could have brought the church down with HE to prevent some of my scouts from retreating but didn't. Why?"

"I couldn't guarantee it wouldn't cause unwanted harm. Using HE shells like that could have caused the steeple to collapse onto one of the tanks, with risk of injury or death."

Rather than shout, as might have been Clark's first reaction when she got frustrated, she repressed the anger and spoke surprisingly evenly.

"Look Pearce, you said yourself that you have to win. But you just contradicted that statement when you handed away victory by not taking advantage of that opening. If you truly can't afford to lose, you know what you need to do to guarantee that."

With that, Clark walked out of the room, leaving a slightly battered and contemplative Pearce leaning on the simulator table.

"That woman will be the death of me."

**Chapter end**

**Omake**

"Sam, it's nearly time for class!" Jo shouted, knocking loudly on the cadet captain's door.

"I am aware," Pearce answered, opening the door, still in a pair of grey pyjamas.

"Well there's no way you'll be ready on time," Jo said, eyeing the sleepy-looking Pearce, "Did you stay up all night planning for our matches again?"

Pearce nodded.

"Well I don't mind being a couple of minutes late, just hurry up!"

The door slammed with immense force, and then opened again all of a second later.

"Shazam."

Pearce swept out of his room dressed immaculately in his full cadet attire, replete with coat, and strode off in the direction of campus, the door slamming behind him.

"I suggest hurrying, Miss Reid, or we might yet be late," Pearce said, prompting Jo to run to catch up with him.

**End**

**That's it for this chapter! It was a bit of a stressful job really, as I wanted to get a chapter of character work in before the matches start proper, but didn't have what I considered good material to put into the piece. So this is what I devised, after much thought and blotting with a pen. I also decided to have two of Hippo team fighting with weapons because I'm a re-enactor myself, so I figured I'd extrapolate the reki-jo obsession with historical figures to their logical endpoint.**

**Aside from that, I decided the simulator room would be based on an exhibit I saw at the tank museum, a room used for defence planning that utilise digital displays in an almost game-like manner.**

**Next chapter will be getting to the matches proper, but I'm not rushing.**


	18. Chapter 18: Small Captains, Big Rivalry

**I apologise if this chapter comes out later than usual again, I'm currently dealing with a lot of stuff at university, both in terms of work issues and personal issues. Needless to say, my current status has not been conducive to a good writing environment, and I'm having trouble finding time to write, as well as trouble thinking through what I want to write. (Edit: 12/6/2015 – I said this chapter would be late, and I was right. I've had a very hectic couple of months, and I very much doubt this chapter will even be ready for the two month mark since last update. I once more apologise.)**

**Regardless, I shall offer up this chapter, as poor in quality as it is, to the altar of your opinion. I've also added a poll, asking which of my OC teams in Wellesley you like the most. I'm also trying to add more march music to the story, because I loved the GuP OST and want to expand upon it.**

**Anyway, this chapter marks a swing back into the battle sequences instead of fluff and character development. I guarantee somewhat more Katyusha than usual. (Actually, I was lying a little, you're still getting about 8000 words of build-up.)**

**Carrier Dauntless – 1700hrs - Tuesday 11****th**** February (Play Kenneth Alford's Great Little Army)**

Another day had passed by for the Wellesley cadets, the same unflagging pace of teaching, training and strategising. Preparing for the inevitable snow, Hobart team had rolled out the winter kit for all the tanks, and Hart had done much the same with the uniforms, forcing the cadets to practice in the thickly lined cold-weather gear. Given that the weather was still reasonably fair, as the carrier was still a ways south of the cold climes of Hokkaido, Hart had been forced to call practice early, seeing that some of the cadets were overheating furiously. After addressing them, ensuring that the team were psyched up for the following day, Hart left the cadets to finish up their preparations, and made his way into the cool interior of the main building. Despite the welcome relief from the warmth of the outdoors, Hart still felt a bead of sweat run down his forehead, a sign of his nervousness. Regardless, he swallowed, and carried on through the halls of the academy HQ, determined to get something off his chest.

A short walk later brought him to the door of the headmaster, where he would have knocked if he hadn't heard voices inside, indicating that the veteran officer was otherwise occupied at the moment. Hart chose to wait rather than barge in, unwilling to risk the ire of his commanding officer. A short while later, a stern looking man in a sombre suit emerged. His grey hair, already displaying signs of white at the roots, paired with prominent crow's feet around the eyes, distinctly betrayed the man's advancing age. He barely acknowledged the presence of Hart before marching off, his posture and body language exhibiting distinct signs of annoyance. Putting his thoughts regarding the stranger to one side, Hart knocked on the office door, hearing a barely concealed groan of annoyance from within.

"Enter!" the gruff voice of the headmaster barked.

Opening the door and marching up to the desk somewhat stiffly, Hart gave a crisp salute.

"Ignore my tone, John, and calm down," the grizzled old soldier said, "I thought that wizened old nag Todd was coming back to irritate me again, not you."

Unsure whether to be relieved that he wasn't being berated, or somewhat incensed that his own CO had all but said he was irritating, Hart settled into an at ease stance.

"Was Todd the gentleman I just saw leave sir?"

"If you mean the grumpy old git in the suit, then yes. He's part of the board that oversees the school, and one of the least tolerable of the lot of them. They're a bunch of jumped-up bureaucrats for the most part, and only a few of them have any military experience."

"Surely that should be a pre-requisite for overseeing the running of a military school, shouldn't it?" Hart asked quizzically, prompting the headmaster to lean his elbows on his desk and steeple his fingers.

"You would think so. Sandhurst gets away with it, since they have a solely military curriculum, but since we take cadets at lower ages and offer a broader academic tuition, we've had other 'professionals' foisted upon us. This of course would be fine if they kept their noses out of our cadet training, but they seem utterly incapable of this. But I digress, what did you want from me John?"

"Well sir, it's been bugging me for a while," Hart said, shifting on his feet, "But why did we assign tankery as a taught course rather than as an extra-curricular activity?"

"And what brought this on?"

"If I'm honest sir, I've never really thought that having our cadets use old, obsolete equipment would be the best way to teach them an understanding of tanks, but it's only been recently that I've become a little more uneasy. I had the opportunity to talk to some of the competitors from one of the schools, St Gloriana's, and they made it quite clear that they consider tankery a sport, not a mock battle. This was only further confirmed by observing the other matches, and it seems evident that most of the competitors view this as an extra-curricular sport. Most of the other schools offer it as an elective, a kind of for-credit extra-curricular, not a taught course. Compare this to how our captains plan for their matches, going so far as to use our tactical display room to plan out strategies, and I think we might be encouraging the wrong sort of behaviour in our cadets."

The Headmaster sighed, and slumped down a little in his chair, before indicating to Hart to get a seat from the other side of the room.

"So, you think we're enforcing the wrong sort of practices on our cadets?"

"Oh, no doubt sir. I'm not sure if you've read the reports I send in each evening, but as I indicated in the last one, the fact that this course is for credit is encouraging some of the students to go to greater lengths to ensure victory. The fact that Pearce and Clark are seeing eye to eye is in itself a big flag that something is wrong, but with the amount of diligence they're applying to training, you'd think they were planning for a war."

"Given their respective situations, I'm not particularly surprised," the headmaster commented dryly. "Step in if you think they're going too far."

"Can't we do something more than that, like remove the credits part of the course?"

"Don't you think I've tried!" the headmaster snapped, "I already tried explaining to the board that tankery has no relation to real military practice when it was proposed a decade ago, but it was either add it to the curriculum or not have it all, since the board felt the expense was unjustified for a purely recreational subject. That stance has not changed this year, as we rolled it out to the college level."

Sitting straight up in his chair and leaning forward, the headmaster looked at Hart tiredly. The exhausted gaze that the young instructor saw from his superior spoke volumes about how taxing the headmaster's job was. A lesser man would probably have given up by this point.

"Look, all you can do is caution them John. As long as your cadets are playing within the rules, as lax as those rules are, you can't stop them. I know that's the last thing you want to hear, but that's the way it is, you can't blame yourself."

Hart pursed his lips in frustration. It made him quite angry at how powerless he was to do anything, with the easy solution to their problem confounded by simple bureaucratic inertia, something he could do nothing about. The basic issue was that the academy's governing board did not understand the concept of tankery. They thought that the use of military equipment, as dated as it might be, merited its inclusion into the Wellesley military teaching course. The only other place for it, since Britain's teaching system did not include elective modules, possibly the perfect place for the subject, would have been as an extra-curricular activity, but the expense of tankery was deemed too high to just be extra-curricular.

Of course this meant that Hart was supposed to be teaching a for-credit class, which coupled with the high academic standards of the academy and a few cadets determined not to fail, had led to this predicament. At a time when the four academies competing in Japan were supposed to be ambassadors for bringing the sport back to the West at college level, this was a potential disaster waiting to happen.

"I'll keep an eye on my cadets, sir," Hart said, a look of determination on his face. He offered a snap salute as he stood up, the somewhat surprised headmaster returning it.

As Hart left the office, he considered the events leading up to now. Had he been too lax with his students? He'd tried to be hands-off so that they could learn strategy themselves and not become too reliant on any insights he provided, but he hadn't considered that a group of students accustomed to military training might treat the subject as they would any other combat situation. Wellesley might not have taught a 'victory at all costs' mentality like he'd heard some tankery schools did, but the willingness of some students to use potentially dangerous strategies was still a risk. And now it was his mess to clean up

As he walked towards the staff room, Hart sighed. He needed a cup of tea.

**Wednesday 12****th**** February – Hokkaido – 0700hrs**

"What a wonderful morning."

"Oh can it Alexis, nothing is wonderful about this," Louise said irritably, rubbing her gloved hands together.

Campbell team, sans Clark, were standing around with their rides on the deck of the carrier, which had docked about an hour prior, as the team were getting up and making their final preparations to make landfall. The weather, especially at this early hour, was around ten degrees under, and a hovering cloud cover promised the chance of snowfall or rain later in the day, with a light dusting already covering the carrier's deck. As a result, the Chaffee's crew, already irritable at the early start, even though they should have been used to it, were shifting on their feet, the biting cold getting to them. Only the cheerful gunner of the team was in a good mood, being something of a morning person, and seemingly unfazed by the cold weather. As a result, the petite was bounding around with unspent energy, her blonde hair flying out behind her as her far less pleased teammates looked on.

"At least we got cold weather gear in time for this," Charlotte said, the driver adjusting her gloves as she did so.

"I'd rather be back somewhere warm," Louise grumbled, "I remember when the carrier was anchored off Cape Town for a little bit while we were coming here. Now that was some nice weather. I even got some sunbathing done."

"A more temperate climate would have suited me," Marian replied, "Maybe something Mediterranean, maybe Austria or Southern France. I burn easily if the weather's too hot." The communicator's almost ginger curls poked out from under her hat, framing a pale complexion.

"Pfft. You guys just need to chill out," Alexis said, picking up a bit of snow and chucking it at Louise. It hadn't packed very well so the snow sprayed over the buxom loader, eliciting a furious glare from the target.

"Ooh, are we having a snowball fight?" a childish voice interjected, the shaggy blonde mop of Alex Tyler appearing behind Alexis, a huge grin on his face. Alex was Roberts team's loader, a childish chap with a knack for demolitions research and some casual pyromania on the side. "I'm gonna win!" he shouted, dumping a handful of snow over Alexis's head and running off, pursued closely by the petite blonde, who looked vengeful. The chase was brought to an abrupt halt when Alex skidded into Kieran, who was chatting with the rest of Russell team about the rugby results. The 6'2" prop barely moved from the impact, and looked down disinterestedly at the sprawled out form of Alex.

"You need something?" he said, offering the R&amp;D cadet a hand up.

"Nope. Sorry about that," Alex replied bashfully, rubbing the back of his head and grinning.

"No problem. Just don't do it again, you might get hurt." Kieran had meant the words innocently enough, but the loader took the statement completely the wrong way, and backed off quickly with a hurried apology. Kieran just shook his head and carried on talking with his teammates, who looked distinctly amused at the whole display.

"I just wish Saracens had won that last game. There's no way they deserved to lose to Wasps."

"Maybe they'll have better luck against Newcastle next week," David suggested.

"Nah, we need all the luck here," Jake said, "We're playing freakin' Cunningham prep in a week, and all they seem to do is train, train, train for rugby matches. We on the other hand, have been here, working our arses off to train for the next match."

"Well, you want to pass don't you?"

"Yeah," Jake replied, looking defeated.

Not far from Russell team, the rest of Roberts team were watching their teammate intently, as Alexis was still pursuing the loader.

"You really would think Alex would learn not to push everyone's buttons with his childish pranks," Ellie said.

"Well it took four attempts to convince him that doubling the charge in HE rounds was an unnecessary and inefficient improvement, regardless of the increased blast," Lauren replied, "So based on his current track record he'll learn at about the point he pisses off someone who'll retaliate."

"You have to admit though," Adam put in, "Some of the explosives he's concocted in labs have been quite spectacular."

"Only if you're not standing near them," Lauren said dryly. She pulled her lab coat a little tighter around her as a gust of wind cut through the material, chilling her further. Not for the first time that morning, the Roberts team communicator found herself wishing she'd worn the uniform coat rather than her lab coat.

"Oh come on! That modification he made to that M18A1 mine a couple of months back was brilliant to watch!"

"I preferred when we got to tweak with that Vampir infra-red system the other day," Ellie stated, "Some of the gadgets the Germans developed were really cool, almost ahead of their time, and there wasn't a chance of losing your eyebrows from standing too close." Ellie was the resident optics specialist, and enjoyed tweaking with any and all viewing devices she could get her hands on. In matches she was constantly fiddling with her gunner's reticule.

"Agreed," Adam said sheepishly. Their session working with the XM-54 at the start of the year had been a little too close for comfort, and had indeed ended with singed eyebrows. The gunner shivered at the memory.

"But imagine if we could kit out all the tanks with some of the stuff we've examined this year! I mean, I'm sure Hannah would appreciate me upgrading her gunner's reticule with a few new bits and bobs," Ellie said, directing a glance towards the chilled-out sharpshooter of Wavell team.

The aforementioned gunner was sipping at tea in a polystyrene cup, having apparently hit the campus cafeteria just as it opened, and was looking distinctly relaxed, even more so than her usual calm and collected self. Her sister, on the other hand, was looking distinctly irritated this morning, as she was tapping her foot on the ground irritably.

"It's freezing," Amy practically growled.

"We established that fact when we got up this morning," Hannah replied, "Repeatedly reminding us of it doesn't change it either."

"Well, she could always go for try number 41," James said, prompting a warning growl from his teammate.

"Anyway, cold weather or not, did you remember to stow the APDS rounds? Now that we've started getting our supplies through regularly, we have plenty to put in the ammo rack," Olivia said, changing the subject before Amy's already short temper boiled over. The flame-haired girl had taken the necessary precautions for the weather, unlike her teammate, and had as many thermal garments on as possible, with her uniform completed by an incongruous pair of pink mittens.

"Yeah, yeah, got 'em loaded up last night actually," James said dismissively, his eyes glued to a DS emitting the familiar sounds of a Pokémon game, "Isaac gave me a hand with the loading."

"Good, it's nice to see you taking your job seriously," Olivia responded, "Oh, and you should be using a Steel-type against that Wigglytuff, it'll be super effective." The studious girl walked off, leaving a gawking James behind her.

The red-headed comms officer, intent on getting a hot beverage before the team deployed, strolled past Marlborough team on her way to the cafeteria, whose staff Hart had persuaded to open up shop early for his students.

"Look, all I'm saying is that a composite bow is a better choice of weapon than a longbow for an archer," Robert said argumentatively.

"That would be fine with modern materials, but using authentic equipment a composite bow is essentially useless for a Western European, because the adhesives used to bond the parts of the weapon, particularly the horn tips, come apart in wet weather," Chloe shot back. "A solid piece of yew is not as vulnerable to weather, because it won't fall apart."

"The string will still get damp and make it less effective."

"The same could be said of any bow, and even later weapons like muskets became useless in the rain!"

"It is true," Nathan pitched in, "Even larger weapons like ballistae or bombards became a lot less powerful in the rain. Our tanks too, are less effective in wet weather."

"That's why cold steel has always been a preferred alternative," Chloe said, the black-haired gunner donning a feral grin. "You can always bring your composite bow against my kite shield and broadsword if ya want, Robert. I can guarantee it'll be 'fun' for you." Her teammate paled considerably and backed off a short way.

"Is violence really the answer to all the arguments you have Chloe?" Morgan asked tiredly from his seat on the Churchill's treads, his back propped up against the turret side.

"Care to repeat that?" Chloe growled out through gritted teeth, her eyebrow twitching dangerously.

"I withdraw my statement."

"Damn right you do," Chloe said victoriously. She turned to Nathan and grinned widely, giving a cheery wave to Lucy, who was wandering past the group to get back to Hobart team, who were as one would expect, fussing over their ride. The petite gunner gave her a wave back, wrapping her coat a little tighter around herself as she walked on. When she spotted her team, Lucy prodded Luke in the side. Her teammate was sat, back propped up against one of the Comet's tracks, and he turned to look at her questioningly.

"Luke, turn the weather off! It's cold!"

The hulking communicator looked at her quizzically. "As much as I wish I could, Lucy, the weather is not something I can turn on and off. Anyway, a couple of months ago you were saying it was too hot, what gives?"

Lucy pouted. "Well, I wouldn't expect an uncouth lout like you to understand," she said in a mocking upper-class tone, "After all, a lady like myself is sensitive to temperature, something a thick-skinned brute like you wouldn't understand." Just to ham it up further, she flourished the green woolly scarf she was wearing.

Luke just looked blankly at his smaller comrade, causing her to pout again at his lack of reaction. "Seriously Luke, what does it take to get you riled up?" Lucy shouted.

"As far as I can tell, a lot."

"Well you are built like a brick wall," Isaac pitched in, poking his head up from the driver's seat, wrench in hand, "Maybe your temper followed suit."

Lucy burst into a fit of giggles at the jab, while Luke didn't react at all, merely looking at Isaac unfazed.

"In the same way, Isaac, with how short you are, maybe your temper followed suit," Luke replied. The red-headed engineer stopped smirking rather rapidly at his teammate's comeback. Lucy by this point was on the verge of howling with laughter.

"You want a fight?" Isaac asked, trying to be menacing.

"You are more than welcome to try and fight me." At this point, Luke stood up, emphasising that he was at least eight inches taller than his friend, and about half as wide again as Hobart team's driver. At this point, Isaac faltered in his resolve, and settled for chucking a spanner at his teammate, which sailed past Luke's ear without the bigger cadet even blinking. The spanner continued its travel through the air, and sailed over the top of Allenby team's Churchill, parked next to the Comet. It landed right next to Liz, who immediately picked up the offending article and hurled it back, with it nearly colliding with Isaac's head.

"Spanners are not a ballistic weapon!" she hollered, "And especially not for aiming at me!"

Despite the fact that he hadn't even aimed it at her, Isaac couldn't resist a sly comment. "If your head wasn't such a big target, maybe I wouldn't aim for it!"

Liz shook her fist angrily at the engineer, but declined to go over and actually attack him.

"An impressive act of self-control," Bethan commented, "I thought you would go and strike him like Romeo did Tybalt."

"Or perhaps Othello to Desdemona," Amelia added, "Such romance!"

Liz couldn't help but gawk at the ham over-acting her friends added to their speech. "It had nothing to do with love! The reason I'm not pounding him flat is because I can't be bothered!"

"Classic denial," Will said, a conspiratorial smirk hidden behind the book he was reading, a copy of Pratchett's _The Light Fantastic_.

"What!" Liz shouted. "Don't you encourage them!"

"Don't you worry Liz," Amelia said reassuringly, "We'll keep your crush on Isaac secret. We'll even help you work towards the great happy ending you want."

"I don't want any happy ending! I'm not crushing on Isaac dammit!"

"What's this?" Liam asked, strolling back over to his team. The rest of the captains were wandering back over to the rest of the crews too, evidently having finished their final strategy meeting.

"Liz is crushing on Isaac bro," Will answered.

"Eh?" The Allenby team captain looked a little bit confused by the abrupt statement. "Come again?"

"Don't listen to him, he's lying!" Liz shouted, almost pleadingly. "Are we deploying yet?"

"Yeah, we'll be disembarking in about five minutes. Captain Hart's probably going to want to talk to us before we get off the ship too, so get off your butts and get ready."

Farthest from the rest of the crews, Montgomery team were awaiting the go order. Of course, for some that meant sleeping, and Liam was laid swathed in his coat next to the Tiger, his cold weather cap serving as a makeshift pillow. Next to him, propped up against one of the Tiger's interleaved wheels, Stephen was sat watching the clouds. He had disdained the use of the hat that most of the other cadets had swiftly taken up in this weather, as the cold didn't really bother him. Stephen's cloud-watching was interrupted by Andrew, who simply couldn't sit still and wait. The excitable loader was pacing back and forth, evidently of too little patience to sit down.

"Have you ever considered taking up meditation?" Stephen asked. "Or some other equally calming endeavour? I'm told Major Harvey runs an excellent yoga class when she's not teaching marksmanship classes."

"Nah," Andrew replied, "I'd get bored too easily. I like a bit more action in my day-to-day life!"

"As I can see. Are you still doing hockey?"

"Yep! And football." For all his nerdy exterior, Andrew was deceptively sporty. He'd have been in more of the academy's sports teams if he'd had the time. In recent weeks, due to tankery, he'd actually ended up missing quite a few of the training sessions for the teams, and only the fact that he was one of the best players had kept him from being dropped from the football team. "I scored in the last match too!"

"That's brilliant Andy!" Jo pitched in. The diminutive comms officer was perched on the Tiger's boxy hull, her sketchpad in her hands. Andrew blushed a little at the praise, and waved her off bashfully.

"I'm not that good," he said, "More it was dumb luck that I managed it. You guys all have real talents, you know?"

"Oh come on Andy, of course you're talented! None of us are anywhere near as good at sports as you are. You've got real talent there, so don't give me any of that."

"Thanks Jo," the tall loader said, "That means a lot."

A relative calm fell over the group for about a minute, until Andrew lost his patience once more. He clambered up onto Montgomery team's tank and perched next to Jo.

"So, what are you drawing?" he asked, noting the distinct proportions of an anime character. The sketch was of a teenage girl in a school uniform, with short, relatively dark hair and deep, soulful eyes.

"I'm sketching a character from a series I've been watching recently called Saki. This is the main character, who the series is named after, Saki Miyanaga. I've been really struggling to do her eyes though, because it's hard to imply red with shading."

"It's so cool though! I wish I could draw half as well as you," Andrew said.

"I'm sure you'd do something really awesome if you practiced and put your mind to it," Jo replied. She rubbed her hands together, as without her gloves; the biting cold was beginning to chill her fingers.

"How did you get into it?" The loader asked.

"My sister used to draw quite a bit, and I looked up to her a lot, so I tried to imitate her, and found I really enjoyed sketching. I still send her pictures of what I've drawn every now and again." Jo's face fell a little as she spoke. "But it's not really the same, y'know? I wish I could show her in person."

"You must miss your family a lot."

"Yeah, I do. I'm not sure if I'll ever fully get used to living on this carrier. It just feels so cut off from the rest of the world, a floating isolation from home."

"Some might like being able to get away from it all," Stephen interjected, "Not all of us would relish returning home."

Just as Jo was about to ask Stephen what he was talking about, Andrew nudged her, making the comms officer look up.

"Sam's back," he said, hopping off the Tiger and giving Liam a vigorous shake to wake him up.

As he got up from his sitting position, Stephen cast a critical eye over Pearce, who was weaving his way past the other Wellesley crews, making a beeline for his own team. The diminutive cadet had apparently disdained the new uniform coat they'd been issued for the climate, instead wearing a long winter coat in a dark grey colour. If the material and cut were anything to go on, it was of former soviet manufacture. The coat, which would have gone to just below the knee on another man, reached roughly halfway down his shin, and had been left open for ease of movement. The wearer looked just as impassive as usual, with maybe a hint of frustration about him.

"We'll be moving out in about five minutes, but Captain Hart wishes to address us first, so get up and come on."

Pearce's somewhat curt tone did not go unnoticed by his crewmates. It betrayed a slight amount of tension in the cadet's voice, which normally was impassive and apathetic. Andrew and Jo shared a glance. They'd noticed this in their practice sessions over the last few days. Pearce would not attempt to engage in conversation, and merely stand, gazing from his cupola while issuing orders. They'd not said anything, because he looked to be preoccupied with thought, but it was beginning to concern the pair.

Stephen merely nodded at his commander, and picked Liam up by one arm, giving the lazy cadet no choice but to get up. Liam made no attempt to remove his arm from Stephen's shoulder, however, intent on leaning on the tall driver rather than moving under his own steam. Stephen made no comment, but arched an eyebrow towards Jo, who stifled a giggle. The five cadets then joined their teammates, who were assembling in an open space between the vehicles. Hart was perched on the track guard of the nearest tank, Campbell team's Chaffee, which was proudly bearing the pennant marking it as the flag tank. He waited until all of his charges were present in front of him before raising his voice to address them.

"Good morning cadets! I hope the cold isn't getting to you, because it is a bit nippy out," Hart started in a friendly tone, before moving onto more serious matters. "I know you've prepared hard for this match, because you all know that Pravda are one of the strongest teams in the tournament. There would be no shame in being defeated by them, no matter how much disappointment it would bring, because we could be secure in the knowledge that we fought fairly and properly."

The cadets glanced at each other, slightly bewildered as to why their teacher was talking about defeat before the match had begun. Did Hart have no confidence in them? Of course, the two people who Hart had been looking at when he had spoken spied the meaning in his words, particularly when the instructor had emphasised 'fairly' and 'properly'.

"But, that is not to say I think you will lose today, merely that your opponent is strong and not to be taken lightly," Hart said, noting the mood of his students, "You have put a lot of effort in in the last few weeks, especially juggling your academics with this course, and you are all incredibly capable students. I'm sure not one of you will bring any dishonour on our school today." Again, Hart's last sentence was a double meaning, one message for his entire class, and another for two individuals within that group. The pair in question glanced at each other as Hart kept speaking and exchanged a look. Regardless of Hart's not-so-subtle verbal prodding, they would do whatever it would take to win.

Because they had to win.

**Spectator Stands, Hokkaido – 0730hrs**

"It almost feels colder than last time," Miho said, shivering in her seat. All of those who had come from Oarai to spectate nodded their agreement.

The quartet of Anzu, Miho, Yukari and Erwin were somewhat groggy, courtesy of an early start so they could actually be there on time for the match, and their willpower was only further being sapped by the biting cold, which made the warmth of the indoors all the more attractive. One could discern just how cold it was by the fact that all four of the Oarai girls were wearing pants rather than their customary skirts, as well as thick coats, gloves and hats. Miho and Anzu had opted for relatively normal gear for the weather, with Miho sporting a ski jacket and a woolly hat, with Anzu kitted out much the same, except she had donned bright pink mittens and her hat had bobbles.

The other two members of their group were a little more 'original' in their attire. Yukari was wearing a fallschirmjager's jump smock (splinter pattern camo) over an M40. Fliegerbluse, dark grey pants and combat boots. A dark winter cap strained against Yukari's untamed curls. Erwin also looked like she had looted a militaria shop, admittedly par for the course to anyone who knew the reki-jo. Her customary officer's schirmmutze, replete with goggles, was perched on top of her head, her blonde spikes protruding from under it as per usual. Erwin had however traded her desert jacket in for a longer officer's coat, which on her nearly reached her ankles. Despite the size mismatch one could tell at a glance that the coat was made of thick wool, a fact for which the Hippo Team captain was immensely grateful, since she was toasty warm.

"If you're cold Miss Nishizumi, I brought some cocoa in my thermos," Yukari offered, proffering the flask to her friend, who waved it off for the time being. Better to save some for if the match dragged on, rather than drink it all at the start.

The large screens set up for the audience flared to life a few minutes later, giving a brief rundown of all the matches in the tournament so far and welcoming the spectators to the frigid north. The display then ran through a description of the two schools involved in the match, with the commentators offering a short analysis of the two teams, their strengths and weaknesses, and their line-ups. Unsurprisingly, the commentators gave to the conclusion that Pravda had the edge in the match, primarily because of the weather and the relative home-court that Hokkaido represented for the faux-Russian team.

"General Winter is indeed on Pravda's side," Erwin muttered. "As he ever is."

This was a sentiment shared by a pair of fellow spectators, sat some short distance away.

"Did you know that the three great attempts on Moscow were all thwarted by the Russian winter? Charles XII of Sweden, Napoleon Bonaparte and the WW2 German army were all halted by the severe weather and forced to retreat. This prompted to Field Marshal Montgomery to say that rule 1 of the book of war is to never march on Moscow."

"And never start a land war in Asia, yes?"

"Spot on," Darjeeling said, taking a sip from her ever-present teacup. The blonde schoolgirl was apparently unfazed by the weather, having chosen not to adapt her attire for the cold weather. Perhaps she felt it unladylike to make concessions to the weather, Pekoe mused while sitting next to her, or maybe the tea was sufficient to keep her captain warm. Unlike Darjeeling, the petite redhead had bowed to the demands of the weather, and had a warm woollen blanket draped across her midriff, spilling down to her feet, as well as a light blue scarf warming her neck.

"It will be interesting to see if Katyusha has learned from her mistakes last term," Darjeeling mused. "I doubt she will be quite as prideful this time if she has."

"Well, Wellesley are better equipped than Oarai, so it would be understandable that Katyusha would be a little more cautious, especially since she can't bring overwhelming numbers to bear at this stage of the tournament."

"True, with her limited to ten tanks it will force her to be more circumspect in her fighting. Adversity breeds strength after all. A challenge might be good for our favourite little pirozhki."

As Pekoe suppressed a giggle at Darjeeling's use of Katyusha's favourite term, her counterpart's warm smile dropped a little as the giant screens brought up the profile of the Wellesley team. The blonde gazed at the dead eyes of Pearce, almost mocking her in their impassivity. He was nothing like an Englishman should be, and it irked Darjeeling greatly, not that she showed it outwardly. When the St Gloriana girls had run into the Wellesley students, Darjeeling had hoped that they would live up to everything they had been encouraged to emulate, and even though the blonde had allowed some scepticism she had still be underwhelmed. Although the Wellesley students were perfectly courteous, there was none of the nobility and chivalrous attitude that St Gloriana had encouraged. It had been replaced with cold efficacy and calculation, a stoic front rather than a cheerfully determined one.

"We'll see if your mind-set can gain success here," Darjeeling thought, gripping her teacup slightly tighter. "In the end, one way or another, we'll see if compassion can beat calculation, in this match, or further down the road."

Somewhere else in the stands, another person was contemplating the same thing.

"Commandant, why are we spectating this match? Shouldn't we be preparing for our battle with Anzio?"

"We still have several more days until our match," Maho replied, "I do not feel as if one day without us training the team will be detrimental to our chances of victory." Besides, Maho had left Ritakio in command of the team's training for the day, nothing could possibly go wrong! Unless of course, the accident-prone tanker turned up late again. Then all bets were off.

"It is against Anzio after all," Erika said arrogantly. "We have little to fear from them. We could just wait for them to run out of ammunition, and we'd still not have suffered any losses, their tanks are that pathetic."

Maho resisted the temptation to point out to her subordinate that that sort of thinking led to their defeat last term, as it had all of the other major teams.

"I felt it might be wise to observe our competition this week instead, just so that we are aware of our potential opponents in the next round."

"We already know how that little chibi from Pravda fights, so I'm guessing you want to look at one of these new academies that have decided, in their hubris, to join our tournament." Erika totally missed that the pot was calling the kettle black in her statement, instead continuing to rail against the admittance of foreigners into the tournament, and mixed schools no less!

"Erika, are you aware that other countries allow boys to participate too? It is because we primarily have a gender-segregated system that tankery is a women's sport in Japan. In Europe, for instance, there are far more mixed gender schools, and hence tankery is played by both men and women."

"If it's so popular in their home countries why don't they just stay there? No need to intrude in our tournament."

Maho knew very well the reason for the decline of traditional tankery in the West. In America, tankery 'unlimited' was very popular, centring around the modification of vehicles over the rigid restrictions of traditional tankery. In Europe, it had been a match between a German school and a visiting Japanese team that had shocked the audience, and had led to the current hiatus on tankery for minors. Maho knew it well because she had been there, and was responsible for some of the questionable ethics that had caused so much outrage. All to try and impress her mother, as well as save her sister from an inheritance she did not want. It still hurt the Nishizumi heir to think of some of the things she had done under the banner of 'Nishizumi style', but Maho took solace in that it was all for her sister.

"Perhaps, but perhaps we can learn something from them. They certainly pose more of a threat than some of our rivals in tankery."

"Hmmph! As if a school as prestigious and fearsome as ours needs to learn anything from these foreign ingrates. They might not be as weak as Viking or Waffle, but that's down to their tanks, not any modicum of skill on their part. Kuromorimine is elite, and we will triumph in the end."

Maho kept silent as her subordinate continued her spiel, hoping that match started before she had to listen to too much more of Erika.

**The Battlefield – 0750hrs**

True to predictions, a light shower of snow had just begun as the two teams lined up their tanks opposite each other for the standard pre-match meeting. Pravda had brought much the same team as they usually fielded, consisting of 8 T-34s, five of which had 85mm guns, an IS-2 and Katyusha's precious KV-2, with the latter's enormous turret looming large over the other tanks. When Wellesley had lined their tanks up, and their officers had dismounted, they looked over to the Pravda team, who had evidently gathered slightly earlier, if the brazier most of the team were stood around was any indication. A small brown-haired girl in a ushanka pointed their arrival out to the Pravda team, and two figures detached themselves from the main group.

"Oh my goodness," Clark heard Katherine whisper, "She's adorable!"

Following the Clinton team leader's gaze, Clark spotted the object of the comment, who had been mentioned more than once in the briefing sessions. In image, the blonde girl leading Pravda had looked small, but in person, it was even more noticeable. There had to be at least a foot and a half difference between her and the girl next to her, Nonna, who looked to be about Clark's height. And this girl was supposed to be eighteen? Then again, a side glance at her own team captain only underscored the age/appearance dissonance.

Katyusha was in her customary Russian tanker's uniform, a set of green overalls with baggy pants, the Pravda star emblazoned onto the left breast. It looked to be custom, since none of the other team members were wearing such attire, instead clothed in black skirts, green tops with red collars, and a black body-warmer, often with a ushanka. Nonna apparently disdained the latter, and her black hair instead cascaded down her shoulders to her mid-back.

The pair marched across the middle ground, Nonna's gaze impassively locked onto the middle distance, whilst Katyusha looked around with a childlike innocence. Being one to spot a mask, Pearce noticed the look of innocence was concealing a keen mind, as Katyusha's supposedly roving eyes settled on people and machines with an appraising gaze. They flitted from person to person, taking their measure and tank to tank, estimating their strength. When they settled on him, Pearce looked back, an impassive expression firmly in place. He caught the momentary half-flinch as the girl noticed she'd been caught, before the little blonde girl evaluated another person.

"You catch that one, Sam? She's smarter than she's lettin' on," Chris drawled quietly from his position next to Pearce. Taylor had always been pretty good at reading people, and this was one of the reasons Pearce had given up trying to deceive him. The lazy captain was perceptive, but kind-hearted, so Sam had added him to his short list of trustworthy people.

"I'd spotted," Pearce murmured. "Maybe her childishness is a deliberate act, or just a personality quirk."

"It looks pretty real to me, no signs of faking. I'd probably say it's the net result of her looking that young and how others have treated her. That girl next to her looks to be filling the big sister part of the dynamic too."

"Quite."

"She also appears to be giving a run for your money in the 'icy exterior' competition."

Pearce merely raised an eyebrow and looked at Chris incredulously. "She's not even on the same level as me," he said, a statement which caught Chris off guard. As the Wavell team captain made to reply, Pearce had already walked off, Clark in tow, to meet Katyusha.

"Commander Katyusha," Pearce greeted politely, the two pairs stopping a short way away from each other. "Good morning."

The little girl looked deeply unimpressed. "What's so great about it? It's cold, I didn't get to have breakfast, and Nonna dragged me out of bed early."

"One of those is not true," Nonna said quietly, "I made you pancakes, but you refused to have them in case you were ill on the way here." The black haired girl didn't deny that she'd dragged her commander out of bed though. Katyusha had been snuggled up tight to her water-bottle teddy and had wanted to remain that way until Nonna put paid to that plan.

"I tend to find a light breakfast works best," Pearce replied, "Too much food can make one nauseous, but having none is only detrimental to one's effectiveness."

"Don't lecture me!" Katyusha retorted.

"Oh my," Clark said, "Are we a little short-tempered this morning?" She placed great emphasis on the word short. Two sets of eyes narrowed as they turned to glare at her.

"Nonna!" With a single word Katyusha was swept up onto her subordinate's shoulders, the lofty heights of which she gazed from imperiously (even as the smaller girl realised Clark was almost as tall as her anyway, which caused the latter to smirk). "Now I am above all of you! Get used to the sight, as you will be grovelling to Katyusha by the end of this match!"

"We shall see," Pearce said. "I wish you the best of luck for today." His proffered hand was again ignored by Katyusha, although Nonna offered a polite nod to the Wellesley captain.

The two parties separated, heading back to their own ranks. "I guess expecting her to have manners was a tall order, wasn't it Pearce?" Clark said.

"It appears to have been equally difficult for you, Miss Clark. Expecting you to not antagonise our opponent seems to have been asking too much." Pearce didn't even look back when addressing his second. "Get to your post, we're moving to our starting location."

Clark bit back a retort as she trailed after Pearce across the increasingly solid ground, which was now tinged with frost and a dusting of snow. The temperature had also decreased further, and not just because of Pearce's icy critique, so Angela's breath was now clearly visible in the cold morning air. Fortunately, the weather was still clear, so Wellesley's big guns had quite the advantage going into the match, with good going and decent visibility providing reasonably good conditions for the coming battle.

Seeing the return of their commanding officers, the Wellesley team scrambled aboard their vehicles, partly to get ready for the match, but also because they were grateful for the warmth their steeds afforded them, something which the cadets had never thought they would be happy about.

"Didn't think I'd ever be pleased that this thing is essentially a radiator," Nathan commented to his team as they clambered aboard their Churchill.

"Aye, better be glad we aren't doing a desert battle like some of the other poor sods are," Robert replied, taking his seat at the radio. "I doubt I'll even need my scarf after this beast has warmed up."

"Keep your gloves on though," Chloe warned, "If the temperature drops any more, your hands might freeze to the metalwork, and I don't want to have to pry your frostbitten mitts off the hull."

In the next tank along, that of Clinton team, similar weather-related sentiments were being thrown around as the Cromwell was coaxed to life by Sean.

"God, what I wouldn't give for a nice cup of tea right about now," Katherine mused.

"Maybe we should see if we can get some BVs installed on these vehicles," Caitlin said, "That way we can have hot water on tap. They were put on the Centurion so they're still relevant for our tanks too."

"Hmm… Maybe we should talk to Captain Hart about this. After all, getting a good cup of tea is vital when you're at the front, especially in conditions like these."

"You know," Sean said, "Something tells me that the old stereotype of us Brits liking a cup of tea might not be too far off, if you could hear us talking."

The chatter amongst crews was cut off abruptly as the orders to move out were given, the nine Wellesley tanks thus beginning to shift towards their deployment zone. The clatter of treads was oddly muffled in the now deepening layer of snow on the ground, something not lost on the team captains, who noted that the ambient sound their steeds gave off was somewhat reduced. That could give them the opportunity to better hear movement whilst advancing, but equally made their opponents harder to detect. What was worse however, was the increasing lack of grip that the Cromwells displayed on the snowy ground. The lightest of their tanks barring the Chaffee, and with relatively narrow treads, the Cromwells were struggling to find traction at certain points, something which hampered their manoeuvrability.

**0820hrs**

The tanks drew up at their appointed positions around ten minutes after they had set out, forming a rough line as they awaited confirmation for the match starting. The light snowfall had continued to thicken, and by now a tangible layer of snow had formed on the ground, enough that the tanks left visible track-prints in the white snow.

A couple of the cadets had dismounted their steeds, either to enjoy the snow while they had time to talk. Two such cadets stood off to the side from their team, swathed in their long coats. Neither was looking at the other, with both instead staring off into the gently falling snow. One opened a thermos flask, kept in an inside pocket, and took a long draught of tea.

"Look, Pearce, I'm sorry for pissing that kid Katyusha off before." The Wellesley captain recapped his thermos before looking at his second.

"Save it," the diminutive lad replied, "I know it wasn't totally deliberate. We each have our habits which are hard to break. I just would appreciate it if you put a little more thought into the things you say."

"Understood," Clark replied. She wasn't wholly apologetic, since she found childish people hugely annoying, Katyusha included, but she felt an apology would be wise if she wanted to clear the air before a match. "We still sticking with the first plan?"

"It is evident that the weather is against us, as expected, and we both know this will encourage our opponents to play to their defensive strengths, causing us to overextend and be cornered. We have no choice but to spring this trap, and then smash it to pieces. There is no other option, correct?"

Clark's eyes narrowed. "Correct."

Pearce turned to the taller cadet, his expression serious. "We cannot afford to lose. Victory is our only aim, and I intend to make sure that we achieve that end."

"No retreat, no surrender. Not if we want to stay at our school."

Clark nodded, offered a rare salute and then strolled back to her Chaffee. The pair were totally in agreement, they loved their school and would fight for their right to stay at it, using everything in their power to ensure their victory.

As her footsteps receded into the distance, covered by the ambient noise of running engines and chatter, Pearce looked down at his feet, and the snow pooling around them. Whilst he was convinced of the need to fight for his place at Wellesley, his purpose, something continued to linger at the back of his mind, sowing doubt. Was his response appropriate? Was anything acceptable in order to safeguard his place at the school he loved? Or was he treating something as simple as a competition as if it was a war, with all such a conflict encompassed? He could answer none of these questions at the moment. All that was clear was that he needed to fight, and he needed to win, sport or war, both required victory.

The captain gazed off into the falling snow, his mind drifting away from the task at hand for but a moment, seeking solace in the relative calm around him. Pearce's thoughts flickered to his parents and their disapproval of his attendance at the academy, as they feared he would end up just another Pearce etched into the memorial stone. He no longer cared about what they thought of his actions, if they would not support him, they were not worth his time. His mind turned to his colleagues at the academy. Would they approve? But of the people who crossed his mind, one kept returning, a grinning blonde with messy hair. Wherever she was, would Erwin approve of his actions? Did she still care?

Sam shook his head. It was just too much to deal with at the moment. Life was far simpler before he took tankery.

**Chapter End**

**Omake**

"Nonna!" With a single word Katyusha was swept up onto her subordinate's shoulders, the lofty heights of which she gazed from imperiously (even as the smaller girl realised Clark was almost as tall as her anyway, which caused the latter to smirk). "Now I am above all of you! Get used to the sight, as you will be grovelling to Katyusha by the end of this match!"

"We shall see," Pearce said, somewhat irked by Katyusha's childish behaviour ad quite prepared to walk off, until he felt a strong pair of arms lift him into the air. "What the devil?"

"Two can play at that game," Clark said, setting an exasperated Pearce on her shoulders, with the diminutive captain now sitting somewhat higher than his Pravda counterpart. Katyusha pulled a face at the Wellesley second's stunt.

"Nonna!" With but another word, the icy Pravda sniper swept off, bearing her captain back to her awaiting team. Katyusha turned back to the Wellesley pair. "You haven't seen the last of Katyusha!"

Clark and Pearce remained where they were for about half a minute before the latter spoke.

"Angela?"

"Yes, Pearce?"

"I really appreciate the view up here. It's quite nice."

"Really?"

"No. Now put me down."

**End**

**So guys, it's been quite a long road to this chapter. I was hoping to actually get the match into this chapter, and take it to a whopping 20k words, but alas, I could not. I'd rather give you a shorter chapter to read whilst I try and focus for no.19 than attempt to make a mega chapter. I've tried my damnedest to make this as good as it can be, and as fast as possible, but life got in the way. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, feel free to review and such. **

**Until next time, Panzer vor! HereticalShinigami out.**


	19. Chapter 19: Necessary To Win

**Yo! This is HereticalShinigami, returning with chapter 19 of Open Warfare. It's taken me a long time to write this chapter, so I figured I'd make this chapter really long. (Actually the reason was that to fit everything in this chapter needed to be far longer anyway, but I digress.) For those of you who don't like my fluff chapters, or pithy things like character development, fear not. This chapter is like 95% combat, and from start to finish is the battle with Pravda, no buildup, no aftermath, just pure unadulterated battle. As usual I found this hard to write without making one or both teams look like complete idiots or hugely OP, but I think I found a balance. It was also hard to write because I forgot to plan this chapter out fully, meaning that I was working on the fly for most of this one.**

**I also just watched Fury. I was not impressed by it (except the Tiger, because it's a freaking Tiger). That film, for all its 'realism' and the cool display of actual tanks, is quite frankly awful. The realism extends as far as 'some of the Americans die' and 'war is not glorious'. The rest goes out the window, right down to the point of every German soldier in the film being a member of the SS (seriously, there are no actual Heer troops in Fury.)**

**I am also sorry to disappoint, but this chapter contains 50% less Katyusha, since she's on the other team and this is predominantly from Wellesley's viewpoint.**

**Anyway, without further ado, I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

**0825hrs – Hokkaido Battlefield**

A gently falling snow and calm atmosphere blanketed the open field. The sound of idling tanks barely served to disturb this, allowing Pearce to quietly gather his thoughts for the match ahead, and the potential trials beyond it. Or so he thought.

"Hey Sam! The officials have ordered everyone to their vehicles!" Andrew hollered, his large frame mostly hung out of his escape hatch in the Tiger's turret.

The diminutive captain, who had been staring off into the distance contemplatively, turned at the sound of his colleague's voice. He offered a nod to the loader and began to stroll over to his tank, clambering slowly onto the hull before dropping into the commander's seat, where his crew looked at him expectantly.

"I take it everyone is ready and everything is in order?" Pearce asked, shucking his coat over his chair.

"Engine is idling fine, no transmission or mobility issues," Stephen reported, "I made sure we had plenty of antifreeze in the system this morning too."

"Gun sights are laid and calibrated, turret rotation fully functioning," Liam said lazily, reclined in his seat. A half empty bottle of energy drink on the shelf next to his seat betrayed the reason the lazy gunner was even conscious at this time of morning. Fortunately he'd remembered to put his drink in a broad-based flask, so the bottle didn't roll over and end up on the floor of the tank.

"Gun breech is functioning fine, all shells are loaded into their ammunition racks with extra care," Andrew reported proudly, "I even made sure that they were prepped for easy access and that we always had a variety of rounds available."

"The radio's functioning perfectly, I've got all the tactical maps in this file, and the internal comms are working well too," Jo reported, "Are you ready Sam? You look a little stressed."

"I'm just a little fatigued," Pearce replied, lying with an ease that came with experience. "Otherwise I am totally fine."

Jo frowned as she detected the lie, as did Andrew. Whilst it came easy to the lips of Pearce, and certainly sounded convincing, it certainly was not hard to discern for people who were familiar with Pearce. Both of them were well aware that their captain was an early riser, and getting up for the match would hardly have been a terribly difficult schedule shift. The radio op shot the captain a look that told him they would be talking after this, one that brooked no insubordination. She had thought they'd got past the trust issues, but it was evident the boy was brooding on something. No matter, a bigger task was at hand.

"So boss, what's our opening move?" Steven Hawke's voice came down the radio.

"Based on observation, Pravda enjoy playing defensively, particularly when the terrain and weather are in their favour, using their advantage in such conditions to whittle down attacking forces. They get progressively stronger throughout the tournament as they can bring their numbers to bear in greater magnitude, so we are fortunate to face them now, when they have only ten tanks. This lack of disparity means they cannot so easily surround us, nor can they throw their –"

"While I appreciate the commentary sir, I'd rather you just get to the point," the Russell team leader cut in. A vein twitched in Pearce's forehead.

"Since you're in such a hurry Mr Hawke, I'll cut to the point." The captain's tone was now very frosty. "Pravda is going to be cautious and patient. We are going to effect a decisive engagement and rout them, rather than let them wear us down. Understood?"

"Yes sir." Excited, Hawke turned to his crew. "Right lads, we're going on the attack! Oorah!"

No sooner had their boisterous enthusiasm calmed when the radio crackled to life with the voice of the head official.

"All teams are prepared. Match, start!"

The Wellesley tanks roared into life, forming up for an offensive under the instruction of their captain.

"We are concentrating our force for maximum power, rather than dividing it while we pin Pravda down. Hence, Hobart team will be taking point, flanked by Roberts and Russell team. Our centre echelon will revolve around our flag tank, Campbell team, flanked by our two Churchills. Our long range elements will sit behind our centre echelon, namely Wavell and Montgomery teams, whilst Clinton team will be our rearguard. We are heading for point 0870, and then we will plan our assault further from there. Understood?"

"Affirmative," the team leaders responded.

The grumble of treads filled the air as the British academy's cadets deployed into formation, the Comet of Hobart team taking up the forward scouting role.

"Why do you think we were put at the front?" Luke asked his crewmates.

"Buggered if I know," Isaac replied, "But we'll show these Reds not to mess with us!"

"It's probably because we have a good blend of speed and power with this tank, as well as reasonable armour," Sarah said. "With our 17 pounder gun, we can comfortably take out most of Pravda's tanks at a range greater than they can take us out at, and of the two we can't hurt at long range, the KV and the IS, we can run away from.

"Makes sense," Isaac concurred. "Our 77mm is pretty damn powerful."

"On that note," Elliot chipped in, "Did you make sure it was properly prepared, Lucy?"

"Yep," the gunner chirped, "Barrel cleaned out, gun breech cleared, sights calibrated, all that stuff's been done. I could hit a 50p at 1000yds now."

For all her hyperbole, Hobart team knew Lucy's boast was not unfounded. In practice the crew had particular focused on long-range shooting to maximise the use of their powerful 77mm High Velocity Gun, and Lucy had proven that she could cause havoc with such a lethal weapon. Out of the gunners, she probably rated about second, just behind Liam, whose proficiency with the 88mm was certainly nothing to scoff at. Lucy maintained she was only second because of the brilliant German optics of the Tiger though.

"Good good," Elliot said, offering his gunner a smile, "Let's hope they oblige you with some targets."

The Wellesley forces pressed on in relatively high spirits, eating up the ground under their treads, as the falling snow began to thicken.

**The Stands – 0840hrs**

"So it has begun."

"Indeed, commandant. We shall see if these British children triumph over our so-called rivals. They have caught them at their best, after all. Pravda always ends up relying on General Winter or General Mud to win their battles for them."

Maho glanced at Erika. The blonde girl had tempered her hubris somewhat in the aftermath of their defeat by Oarai the previous term, but it hadn't humbled the prideful Erika quite yet. A few successful friendly matches in the holidays had restored some of Erika's hubris, something which Maho was not entirely happy about. The victories had served to bolster the morale of the dispirited Kuromorimine team, but they were against the old enemies, Saunders, Jatkosota, St Gloriana. The rise of Oarai as a potent new challenger had stirred up the relatively stagnant league a little, but Maho knew that further change was required to restore dynamism to a sport that had spent too long with the same champions.

"A wise general utilises all of the facets of war if they seek victory, including the terrain. As Sun Tzu laid down, one should only go to war if victory is already inevitable. Pravda are merely thinking strategically," Maho stated. Erika let out a huff of acknowledgement, and said no more.

Not far away from the Kuromorimine commanders, the clink of fine china betrayed the position of St Gloriana's leader and her adjutant. A Staghound armoured car sat to their rear, evidently their transport to the field.

"Looks like we're underway," Pekoe commented to her superior.

"Indeed, and perhaps none too soon for the Wellesley team. The snow is thickening."

**The Field - 0900hrs**

"Visibility is beginning to diminish a tad, Elliot," Isaac noted. "It's still pretty good, but if the snowfall keeps getting heavier…"

"Understood, we'll have to be extra vigilant from now on."

The Wellesley team pressed forward, led by the Comet, the heavy vehicles leaving deep trails in the pristine white sheets of snow. The observers for each team craned their necks to see if they could spot any enemy activity, because by this point, it was entirely possible they could have met the enemy. The cadets were understandably tense by this point. Every fold in the land could hide a Pravda T-34, and every copse of trees an IS or a KV-2. This was after all, as close to enemy territory as one could get when fighting a Russian team, even an imitation like Pravda. Given the temperate climes of their own country, the cadets were less at home in this terrain, and in some ways it was beginning to get to them. The peaceful calm of the snow, and the relative quiet of the air, only added to the tension, rather than eased it as one would expect.

"Keep a cool head, Katie," Chris drawled to his driver, and implicitly to the rest of his crew. "If the enemy's out there, we'll pick 'em up soon enough."

"I'm more concerned that we'll notice them only when they start shooting," Katie shot back.

Similar sentiments were being shared by Roberts team.

"What I wouldn't give for an infrared scanner in these conditions," Ellie said.

"Sadly we can't improve the tanks with any post-war equipment according to league regulations," Anna said, "At best we could hook the Tiger up with it, because such modifications were coming into use for Germany right at the end of the war."

"I doubt Pearce'd be too happy to see his precious Tiger tinkered with," Adam chipped in.

"Hmm, true."

"Anyway, can you imagine Liam even being bothered with learning how to use it?"

"Also true."

The aforementioned marksman was not doing himself any favours at this point, given that he was slouched against his gun-scope, casually scanning back and forth as the ponderous Tiger lumbered forward.

"Joanna, what position are we currently at?" Pearce asked over the internal comms.

"We're at 0645, and closing on our target position roughly two minutes ahead of schedule. We should be in sight of their deployment zone within about 15-20 minutes at our current rate of progress."

"Superb." Pearce switched channels. "All units, any signs of the enemy?"

All tanks responded in the negative, having detected nothing of the Pravda team thus far. Pearce turned back to Jo after a quick sweep of the terrain surrounding the Tiger.

"What terrain features are in this area?"

"There's a small village in a depression a few klicks North of here, a few stands of trees, and a lake a couple of klicks east. There's a few hills scattered about, but other than that the terrain's pretty open."

Pearce conveyed this to his subordinates, and asked their opinions on the enemy's likely positions. Like him, they were loath to split their force in the face of an enemy whose position they had yet to determine.

"I would guess that they would hole up in the village," Simon asserted, "It would shorten our line of sight and force us to close range, where they have the advantage."

"That does seem logical," Liam conceded, his book now shelved since there was need for greater attentiveness. "But they did something similar to Oarai last time, drawing them into a village before ambushing them. While it might be tried and tested, it does seem too obvious."

"Perhaps they intent to draw us into the village and then surround us, rather than spring out from dense terrain. The nearby woods would provide perfect dead ground for them to do so," Katherine suggested.

"We can't keep second-guessing ourselves though," Clark put in. "We need to attack, we can't just sit here and wait for Pravda to politely come and sit in front of our guns."

"You're right there," Chris said, "Sitting around gets us nowhere. What's our play, Sam?"

Pearce consulted his map, visualising their current position and what moves the cadets could make, as well as likely enemy positions. Clipping his radio mic, he began to lay out his plan for assailing the village

"We maintain current course, swing around to the North-East of the village, and launch our attack from there. Wavell team can stay on the high ground and provide cover, whilst our Cromwells fan out to the sides. The Churchills will be leading the way in, supported by Montgomery and Hobart teams, with Campbell tucked in behind. Understood?"

"Affirmative," Hawke confirmed for Russell team. His tone of voice belied the agitated state of the captain, evidently eager for something to shoot at.

"Got it," Chris replied, "We'll keep their heads down if they're in there."

"Not a bad plan Pearce," Clark commented, "I'll be amused if Pravda aren't actually in the village though."

"You won't be if they suddenly take us by surprise," the Wellesley captain replied dryly.

The advancing British tanks maintained their course, sweeping wide round to the east of the village. The steady course they kept was interrupted a short while later by Elliot, who reported that his team had spotted something.

"There are tracks up ahead, directly across our path."

"Can you tell which direction they're going in?" Katherine asked.

"They seem deeper as they head west, perhaps because the snow has had less time to cover it up. About four sets of tracks, one set wider than the others."

"So they're heading towards the village."

"It would seem so," Clark said. "We don't know if it's a deliberate ploy, or if these are genuine. Regardless, it's the first concrete evidence we have of enemy activity, so I reckon we should follow it up. Pearce?"

"It does seem like the most logical course of action," Pearce mused. "All teams, we are going to alter course and launch our attack on the village now. Maintain formation and remain alert."

As the captain relayed his orders, the cadets responded swiftly. With a practiced ease, the formation swung almost 90 degrees left in order to follow the tracks of the enemy, Hobart team retaining the point position. The elegant manoeuvre got an approving glance from their erstwhile imitators in the stands, one of whom was re-filling the kettle.

The A34 in the lead, the Wellesley team pressed on, following the sets of tracks through the snow. Roughly half a mile out from the village, the tanks fanned out into a combat formation, turrets sweeping back and forth to catch glimpses of any enemy vehicles. Russell team occupied the extreme left with Roberts team, whilst Clinton team covered the other flank. Finding an adequate patch of raised ground, reasonably well-shielded from enemy fire from the flanks and rear, Wavell team took up a covering position.

It was Marlborough team that rolled into the village proper first, passing a large barn on the edge of the hamlet, the 6pdr sweeping side to side to cover the few side routes that intersected with their path through the buildings.

"No contact thus far," Simon reported.

Allenby team were mirroring their comrades on the other major route through the cluster of dwellings, their bulky Churchill slowly marching forward down the snow-covered streets.

"Got nothing either," Liam communicated to his teammates. "Tracks continue though, so we should be going in the right direction."

To the left and right of the Churchills, the three Cromwells were advancing, brushing through minor streets as they skirted round the township, their Rolls-Royce Meteor engines humming as they ploughed through the snow.

"There're no tracks on this side of the town," Hawke sent over the radio. The tall sportsman was stood up in his turret cupola, gazing left to right for signs of their ever elusive foe.

"None on this side either," Katherine added.

The advancing force continued cautiously, covering themselves in case of attack, but still they found little evidence of the enemy, barring a continuous set of tracks through the village. It was as the Churchills reached the other side of the hamlet that this changed.

"Uh, sir," Simon said, "I've found the enemy."

Lining a ridge a little over a kilometre out of the town, were six Pravda tanks, guns all trained on the hamlet. Marlborough team clattered to a halt, and then began a steady reverse, as the first shells began landing around them.

**The Stands – 0920hrs**

"It looks like Wellesley have walked headfirst into Katyusha's little trap," Erika commented airily, "Amateurs."

"A tactical oversight yes," Maho agreed, "But it was difficult to predict. Ordinarily one would ambush in the town, not just as an opponent is leaving it."

**The Field**

Maho's words would come as little solace to the Wellesley crews. One of the tactical oversights Pearce had made became apparent in the first few minutes of the engagement, as Pravda's tanks began to bear down upon the cadets. In sending the Churchills first, in the hopes of using their armour to offset any surprise attacks, Pearce had also blocked his heavier guns, which had been kept behind them in support, from firing upon the enemy, as the ponderous bulk of their own heavy tanks blocked their line of sight. The Cromwells on the flanks offered some fire support, but they were also lacking in punch at the current range of the combat.

"We can't afford to be pinned in cramped conditions like this. Pull back." Pearce ordered. "We'll regroup on Wavell team's position."

Steadily, the Wellesley team began to retire through the hamlet, laying down fire as they did so. A furious barrage came back from the six Pravda tanks, which consisted of three T-34/85s, two 76s and an IS-2. A cheer went up from the crowd as a 122mm shell from the IS blasted apart the wall of a dwelling on the very edge of the village.

"Well, this is not exactly how I was hoping this match was going to go," Katherine said to her team as they rolled steadily backwards, buying time for their colleagues in the village proper.

"Well, what did you expect?" Alice said, her eyes glued to her gunner's sights. "The best laid plans and all that…"

"Just take solace in that it's not that bad at the moment," Caitlin put in rather optimistically.

A shell report, landing a little too close for comfort, gave the lie to Caitlin's statement. Gently tapping her captain on the shoulder after she'd loaded another round into the Cromwell's gun, Rosie decided to weigh into the conversation.

"Not wishing to add fuel to the fire, but I believe the enemy has outflanked us," she said.

Katherine wasted no time in popping the top hatch so that she could locate the apparently oncoming foe. Glancing off to her right, she spotted another 76mm armed T-34, closing in from the east on the assailed Wellesley team. Fighting down some incredibly unladylike language, she ducked back inside the turret.

"Alice, traverse right, 65 degrees. Target is roughly 450 metres out. Aim for his treads if possible."

Responding swiftly to this new threat, which had been hurling shells at them as it advanced, Clinton team took decisive action. Their blonde-haired gunner swung the turret in the direction of their Russian foe with haste, the motors of the turret traverse whining as they ground round. A slight sprinkling of snow fell through the open hatch as another round hit the earth next to the Cromwell. Alice returned fire with vigour, hurling the 75mm shells from the 6-pdr at their closing foe. For the most part they whizzed past the speedy Soviet machine, although one did clatter off the oblique angle of the side plating.

"They're closing pretty quick," Sean observed, palming the controls ready for sudden movement, "I reckon they're nearly in effective range."

If there was one thing that gave most of the Wellesley team solace when facing their opponents at that point it was the simple fact that they had pretty strong front armour. The regular T-34s especially would be hard pressed to smash through the front armour of even the Cromwells, as the MkVII Cruiser bore nearly 100mm of effective frontal armour. Coupled with a fast firing 75mm and a Rolls Royce Meteor engine, the Cromwell was no slouch, despite its boxy appearance. Clinton team were reminded of this as the T-34 smashed a shell straight into the gun mantlet, only for the munition to bounce harmlessly off the plate.

"Get us facing them, Sean," Katherine said. The driver complied rapidly, while his colleague seated behind him repositioned the turret to retarget the oncoming tank.

"Shell's loaded," Rosie said.

"Music to my ears," Alice replied, "Click click boom."

With a cacophonous roar, the Cromwell disgorged a shell into the onrushing T-34, de-tracking them, neat as you please. The Russian tank slewed to a halt, kicking up a flurry of snow.

"Now for the crescendo!"

The gunner's cry heralded another blast from the British tank, which saw the round slam into the T-34's hull plate with vicious force. The little white flag that emerged from the tank's hull was all that was needed to confirm the destruction.

"Now," Katherine said, taking a sip from a bottle of water, "Let's hope our friends are faring as well as we are."

They were not.

On the left flank, Russell team and Roberts team were confronted by two T-34/85s, one bearing down from their flank, and another from the front. Whilst Roberts team confronted the 85 to their front, Russell team turned to face the flanking tank.

Unlike the encounter between the 76 and Clinton team, this one was far more even. The powerful 85mm guns of the Soviet tanks meant that they could retaliate against the Cromwells at a fair range, and this was exactly what the two medium tanks did, rolling to a stop inside effective range and opening fire on the pair of cruiser tanks. Shells burst around the cadet teams as they marshalled a counter-attack. Outgunned by their opponents, whose S-53 guns provided them a firepower advantage, it was clear they needed to close.

"Kieran, get us in close," Hawke ordered, "We'll tackle the ones on the flank."

Russell team's driver coaxed their mount round to face their opponent on the flank, the narrow tracks of the Cromwell skidding slightly on the loose surface of the snow. Engine growling, Kieran slammed his foot hard down, sending the 27 ton tank hurtling towards their opponent, a fine cloud of snow hanging in the air behind them.

Roberts team took a somewhat more measured approach to closing with their opponent, choosing to zigzag towards the other T-34, keeping their armour at an oblique angle to maximise protection against the 85mm shells. Sat still, the Pravda gunners were now in a far better position to take accurate shots, and they did so, a multitude of near misses skimming past the moving Cromwells, whose return fire was somewhat lackluster.

"What I wouldn't give for some gyro-stabilisation," Ellie muttered.

"Sadly, even the most basic of it is reserved for our American counterparts," Lauren replied. "Our crates were designed with stable suspensions in the hope of providing fire on the move, but it didn't go so well when we tried it."

"What she means," Adam interjected, "Is the Afrika Korps handed our butts to us because they sat still to shoot, and we didn't."

"I remember that lesson! We were looking at the impact of mechanisation on military thought or something like," Alex exclaimed. "Our esteemed friends in the cavalry tried to treat tanks like they were horses in the Western Desert campaign, and got themselves kicked about for their trouble. Y'know, until Monty showed up."

A round clattered off the tank's side plating with concussive force, shaking the medium tank on its suspension.

"Less talking, more driving," Anna said, a veneer of projected calm over her somewhat nervous disposition.

The Cromwell had now closed to well within effective range for the T-34 by this point, and rather than taking absolute care to aim for weak points, the Pravda gunner decided they would up their firing rate, as a single solid hit would put their enemies out of action. With shells flying in even faster, Adam was hard pressed to evade the hail of lethal fire any longer. With a hefty impact, a round hammered into the Cromwell, just in front of where Lauren was sitting, manning the radio, stopping the Wellesley tank dead in the water. The surrender flag popped a moment later.

"Well, this is irritating," Lauren said, nursing a little bruise from where she'd bumped her head in the sudden stop.

"I know! We'll have to get out and be back in the cold again," Alex said.

"Wouldn't have happened if I'd had gyro-stabilisers," Ellie grumbled.

"Wouldn't have happened if you hadn't missed so many times," Alex shot back with a cheeky grin, which prompted Ellie to try and reach across Anna to strangle him.

At the same time, Russell team were not taking the slow approach, instead aiming to deny the Pravda tanks the targets they sought through pure speed. Kieran had his foot hard to the floor as the nippy little British machine hurtled onwards, spewing the occasional retaliatory round at the Pravda tank. It took little time for them to eat up the distance between themselves and their foes, and at 150m, Steven watched as the 85 aimed directly at them. At their current range, shot dispersal would be virtually non-existent, and the Cromwell certainly wasn't well-armoured enough to withstand a direct hit. Counting down the seconds in his head until the Pravda team would be reloaded, Hawke braced himself.

"Kieran, jink right!"

The big sportsman wrenched on his controls, sending the A27M into a sideways skid which narrowly avoided the 85mm round, scrubbing a great deal of their speed in the progress.

"Right, now get us going again. I want to be round their side before they can fire again," Hawke ordered, a hint of relief in voice, his subordinate already pressing hard on the accelerator to restore their lost momentum.

The Cromwell began to accelerate again, treads slipping a little on the snowy ground before finding purchase. Even in winter kit, the Cromwell's narrow tracks made it imprecise and hard to manoeuvre on the packed snow, which flurried up as the teeth on the tracks dug in. Russell team began once more to close upon their opponents, and the T-34 began to back away as the cadets ate up the distance between them. Another round whistled past Russell team, a little close for comfort again, but the academy's sportsmen were undeterred, and pressed on.

"Hope you're ready Jake," Hawke said, "I doubt we'll get too many more opportunities to put holes in this one.

Another shot from the T-34 was deftly avoided by Kieran's skilful manipulation of the tank, and now was the time Jake chose to take his shot. Since the tank was no longer carrying as much speed, he laid the sights and took the shot, placing it into the hull of their enemy, just under the lip of the turret mantlet. The trademark little white flag appeared a second later, nearly blending in with the still falling snow.

"That's 1-0 to us!" David exclaimed, slamming another 75mm shell into the Cromwell's gun breech.

"Erm, not quite," Steven replied, looking out the rear vision slots, and spying the smouldering hull of Roberts team. "I believe it might be 1-1 now."

"Damn," Connor said succinctly.

"Orders?" Kieran asked, twisting to look at Steven.

"Get us moving, we need to at least face them," Russell team's commander said. "Once we're in effective range, I'll need Jake to focus on getting an accurate shot in. Although if his conversion rate in our last game is anything to go by, he might need a few attempts."

"Oi!" Jake shouted indignantly, smacking Hawke in shoulder. "Cheeky bastard."

"I wouldn't call it cheek," Connor put in dryly, "Your conversions last game were hardly inspiring."

"You can shut up too!"

Even as Russell team exchanged banter, they were taking action. Kieran spun the Cromwell round in a broad circle, keeping the momentum of the tank high before hurtling towards their opponents. The 85, which had changed facing after eliminating Roberts team, began to spew a steady stream of shells in the direction of the remaining Cromwell, hoping to smash the cruiser tank asunder. Clouds of displaced snow were churned up by the vicious exchange of munitions from both teams, as Russell team inexorably closed.

"Ready Kieran?" Hawke asked.

"Yup."

Ready to try their little jink trick again, Russell team's driver pressed the accelerator down a little more, urging the tank towards its 51 KM/H top speed, the Meteor engine howling as he did so. Seeing the Pravda tank lock on once more, Hawke braced himself to yell.

"Now!"

Kieran pulled on the controls once more, trying to slide past the opposing tank's shot, when disaster struck. The narrow tracks of the Cromwell buckled under the pressure of being forced sideways, and the left tread slipped off its mountings, sending the tank into a half spin. The cadets were thrown about as their mount careened off course.

"I think we might have a problem," Kieran said evenly.

"No shit!" Hawke shouted back, a firm grip kept on his chair.

The tank juddered to a halt a few seconds later, leaving the rather shaken members of Russell team to assess the damage.

"We've lost motor control and thrown a track," Kieran reported.

"I wouldn't worry," Connor said, staring out his vision port at the enemy, who had finished re-laying their gun sights now the Cromwell had come to a halt.

They were not to be disappointed, as an 85mm round hammered into the right flank of their turret a few seconds later, thoroughly disabling their vehicle.

"At least we weren't the first to be taken out," David said cheerfully, earning him a venomous look from his teammates.

Back in the centre of the village, the heavier tanks of Wellesley's team were pulling steadily back through the cluster of buildings, exchanging fire with Pravda's advancing armour, which was pushing in from the edge of the hamlet in an aggressive fashion. Shots bounced from the front armour of the sturdy Churchills, whose 6-pounder guns hurled desultory fire back. Behind them, Montgomery, Campbell and Hobart teams rolled backwards, taking shots of opportunity past their bulky comrades.

Sitting up in his turret cupola to get better observation of the battle, Pearce's attention was caught by his communications officer, who contacted him over the internal radio.

"It looks like Roberts and Russell team are out of it, Sam," Jo said, "We have however, claimed one 85 and a 76 for these losses."

"Acknowledged."

For all that the scorecard looked even, with two tanks having been lost on either side, this put Wellesley at a tactical disadvantage as they pulled back. With the loss of the two Cromwells, this left that cadets' left flank hanging wide open, and with five of their tanks still stuck in the town, the possibility of being trapped loomed, especially with two of Pravda's tanks still unaccounted for.

"Accelerate pulling back," Pearce ordered, clipping his throat mic, "We need to get outside of the village post haste, or Pravda may yet get round our flanks and rear. Katherine, keep covering our right for now. Elliot, get your Comet round to our left and try to prevent any outflanking. Wavell team are to continue covering our backs. Allenby, Marlborough, we'll need you to pick the pace up somewhat. Understood?"

"Affirmative. Moving now," Elliot replied, the Comet dropping out from behind Marlborough team to shore up the left flank.

"Got it," Katherine answered.

"Will do," Liam and Simon responded.

"Understood, but I'm a little busy right now," Chris drawled.

"Doing what?" Clark snapped.

"Well…."

The Achilles skidded violently as it sought to elude its attacker, sending flurries of snow into the air as its treads displaced the pristine snow. The 85, which had been rolling in from the rear of Wellesley's position with the intent to cut off the forces in the town when it nearly rolled right over the top of the Achilles, which had been sitting neatly obscured by a bluff. As a result, the T-34, which had been just as surprised as Wavell team to see an enemy tank right next to them, had blasted its round off into the middle of nowhere, giving the tank destroyer a chance to run, which it was now doing enthusiastically.

"Get us up over that escarpment, Amy. We need to break their line of sight," Chris said, still slouching in his chair.

"I'm trying! I can't go straight or we'll get blasted!" the hot-tempered driver shouted.

The nippy tank destroyer surged on, attempting to evade their erstwhile foe, which was now rolling after them, shooting as it went. The undisturbed white blanket that covered the ground was rapidly chewed up by treads and munitions as Wavell team opened up with the pintle-mounted .50 cal on the back of their turret, attempting to throw the Pravda tank's aim off, while the Russian crew opened up with their 85mm cannon.

"I wish we could retaliate against these girls," James said, watching Amy's ferocious driving eat up the distance to the cover.

"You know just as well as the rest of us that we can't do that while we're in motion, James," Olivia chided. "The counterweight they installed to help balance out the 17-pdr would mess up the tank's centre of mass if we turned the turret, and make it harder for Amy to control. Even if we did manage to do that without a problem, the gun has such great recoil that it'd totally mess up any attempts to drive while shooting."

"I guess," James said, looking thoroughly chastised by Olivia's harsh analysis.

Fortunately, the last shot the Russian tank managed to get in before the M10 disappeared over the crest of the rise whistled over the top of the TD's turret, perhaps a little too close for comfort for the thin-skinned vehicle, but missing nonetheless. Amy quickly brought the TD round, and began to follow the ridgeline along, hugging it closely enough that Chris, now stood up in the turret basket, could just about see over the rise. The 85's gunner, apparently unable to spot the Achilles' commander, continued to watch the spot where the lend-lease tank had fled over the crest of the hill.

"They're just watching the ridgeline," Chris said. "They'll probably lose interest pretty soon."

"But we have to do something or they will go and menace our back line," Hannah pointed out, "Merely holding their attention briefly is insufficient."

"Hmm, you're right," Chris said, rubbing the rough stubble on his chin, "We'll want to get over the ridge, target and fire all in one swift move if we want to guarantee a kill without receiving return fire. It's a bit of a tall order though. Amy, pull us back a bit from the ridge so we can carry momentum to go over it."

The hot-headed gunner complied, giving the tank about a 50 yard space between the lip of the rise and their starting position.

"Right, Hannah, get ready. I'll need you to lay the gun really quickly once we get over the hill. Can you do that for me?"

The blonde-haired gunner just gave a thumbs-up, as she was already prepared with her forehead pressed against the rest for the gun scope.

"Right then. Amy, floor it!"

The speedy tank destroyer roared into life as Amy squeezed every ounce out of the engine to make it accelerate. Barely being slowed by the incline, the M10 cleared the lip of the rise and crashed down onto the other side in a cloud of displaced snow. Quick on the draw, Hannah traversed the 17-pdr into position and fired at their opponent, which was scrambling to engage the suddenly reappeared tank. Sadly, Hannah hadn't quite locked on the perfectly, and the round smashed into the snow just shy of the T-34, showering the T-34 in the condensed liquid. This did no favours for the Pravda gunner who, perhaps blinded by the cloud of snow kicked up by the Achilles, also fluffed his shot on Wavell team, sending the shell whizzing past their right flank.

"Hannah, increase elevation, 5 degrees. You'll hit 'em square on," Chris advised. "James, load her up please."

The clank of the gun breech opening to accept another round was the only sound in the tank at that point aside from the hum of the idling engine, as Hannah made some final adjustments to her aim. The breech block slid back into place with a final clang as James finished manhandling the shell into it, and the blonde gunner took a deep breath.

"Fire."

With the actinic flash that had given its sister vehicles the name Firefly, the Achilles' powerful cannon unleashed its payload with a fiery contrail blooming from the muzzle brake. The 17-pdr shell flew straight and true, hammering into the T-34 with concussive force. The white flag popped from the hatch a moment later.

Wavell team relaxed for a moment, exulting in their victory over the Pravda tank, which had so nearly rolled right into them when it had first appeared. Chris slumped over in his chair and let out a big yawn.

"I don't know about you, but I'm beat."

"You barely even did anything!" Amy shouted, twisting in her seat to glower at her captain.

"Hey, hey, commanding this tank is hard work," Chris protested.

"Putting up with you is hard work!"

Chris took a look of mock offence at the petite driver's words. "Oh, Amy, you wound me so," he proclaimed melodramatically.

"Perhaps we can get back to the match now," Hannah cut in before Amy blew a gasket at the lazy leader of Wavell team.

"Good idea," Olivia agreed.

The arguing between driver and commander now sorted, Wavell team moved back into an advantageous position to cover the retreating Wellesley tanks, which by this point were almost on the edge of the town.

"Stephen, turn down the side road so we can turn around quicker," Pearce ordered, sitting up in the turret for better observation of the field.

The stoic driver rotated the Tiger on the spot to navigate down a lane off the main road, and manoeuvred the heavy tank round the block so that it could roll out of town that bit faster, and join Wavell team to rain fire down on the advancing Pravda tankers. As they were leaving the hamlet however, approaching the barn that marked the very outskirts of the settlement, Montgomery team' commander swore he could hear some noise over the din of the battle behind him, although he quickly dismissed it so he could focus on the task at hand.

This was something of a mistake. The doors of the barn flew open as Pravda's tenth tank, the KV-2, smashed its way onto the field of battle, its 152mm howitzer pointed ominously towards Montgomery team.

"Hard left!"

Complying with commendable swiftness, Stephen swung the ponderous Tiger to the side, sending the heavy tank diving off to one side, smashing someone's neatly kept lawn as he did so. This rapid movement saved Montgomery team from the artillery shell that a moment later, ploughed through where their tank had occupied. Sadly, this same manoeuvre had proved very unfortunate for Marlborough team, as the shell now had an uninterrupted path to sail into the Churchill's exposed rear armour.

"Son of a bitch! What hit us?" Chloe shouted.

Peering out of the rear vision slits, Simon spotted the culprit. "I believe that KV-2 behind us might be the culprit."

"Where the fuck did they come from?"

"I'm going to with from behind us."

"Smartass."

**The Stands – 1000hrs**

"Concealing the KV-2 in that barn was certainly effective," Yukari commented, watching as Pravda continued to tighten the noose on the beleaguered Brits.

"A bit cliché though," Anzu added, rubbing her hands together to keep the circulation going.

"Let us see if Wellesley can pull an Operation Goodwood, and break out of the pocket they've been trapped in," Erwin said.

"Both sides have lost three tanks so far, putting Wellesley at six, and Pravda at seven. At the moment Pravda are in the more advantageous position, as they are advancing, but still have forces able to harass the flanks, as well as their ambushing KV-2. Wellesley's strength is mainly formational at the moment, as they are not fully surrounded and hence can withdraw. Their tanks are also qualitatively a match, if not better than those at Katyusha's disposal," Miho assessed.

"What should both sides do at this point?" Yukari asked.

"Pravda hold the advantage for now, and what they should do is press round their opponent's flanks, to help negate the strong frontal armour on most of the British tanks, as well as hem them into the village. Wellesley needs room to manoeuvre and range to deploy their guns, so they should continue retreating as they are now, but perhaps with more haste."

"Very insightful Miss Nishizumi," the Anko team loader complimented. "Do you have any predictions as to the course of the battle at this point?"

"I'd say it was too close to call at the moment," Miho answered, "There are a lot of things to weigh up and that could change as the fighting progresses."

The brown-haired scion of the Nishizumi gazed at the display screen, almost passively assessing the course of the battle as the Russian tanks fanned out into the side streets.

**Battlefield – 1000hrs**

"Fan out and surround them!" Pravda's commander shouted over the radio, "They are caught like rats in a trap by Katyusha's brilliance, now we snap the trap shut!"

The IS-2 and an 85 rolled down the two main thoroughfares in the town, the former firing at the only operational Churchill left, Allenby team, with only their target's thick armour denying them satisfaction as they forged ahead. The other three tanks of the spearhead, an 85 and two 76s, split up down the side streets, one 76 reinforcing the 85 already on Pravda's right, and the other two filling in Pravda's left flank. Facing them on Wellesley's side were Hobart team on one flank, and Clinton team on the other, both hastily retreating while attempting to cover the isolated Churchill, still lumbering through the centre of town.

The biggest threat to Wellesley's centre though, was not the veritable tide of Soviet armour attempting to surround them, but the KV-2 to their rear. The ponderous heavy assault tank, having taken out one of Wellesley's heavies, was now a persistent threat to the cadets' back line, albeit one mitigated by its incredibly long reload time.

"C'mon Nina, get it loaded!" the gunner shouted, a girl with curly brown hair.

"I'm trying!" came the strained reply of the overworked loader, a petite girl with brown pigtails and a ushanka. The fact that the shell was almost the same size as her apparently didn't concern the rest of the crew, who went about their duties as usual. Eventually Nina managed to manoeuvre the hefty projectile into the gun's breech and rammed the ordnance home, followed by the bag charge that provided the shell with power.

"Done!" she proclaimed as the breech block slid back into place. "And in 60 seconds, no less!"

"Great, now we can get moving again," the tank commander said.

No sooner had she said that though, than the tank was rattled by a powerful impact which shook it on its suspension.

"What hit us?" the commander shouted, popping the top hatch open to get a look. "Oh, great. Just great."

"What is it?" Nina asked.

"The left tread's busted, we can't move." True to form, the heavy track was smashed, a few links having been torn out by the impact, forcing the siege tank to stay where it was.

The petite loader sighed. "I'll go fix it."

The KV-2 commander looked up at the hill to where she thought the shot had come from, but could not see any enemy vehicle, just a small piece of scrub which had been set on fire by their opponents' main gun.

Elsewhere in the British line, the hard pressed leading edge maintained a defiant resistance as they manoeuvred backwards through the hamlet. By this point, almost all of Wellesley's tanks had reached the far edge of the village, and had room to use their mobility, except Allenby team, whose more cumbersome vehicle was lagging behind.

"Sometimes I hate this slow, bulky bugger of a tank," Liam muttered.

"Andrews, what is your current status?" Pearce's voice came over the radio.

"They're not giving us much space to move," Liam replied, "We're still going, but we could do with some support."

"They're starting to prowl round our flanks too," Amelia pointed out, as she spotted glimpses of Pravda tanks on parallel streets to them.

"Resist as much as possible, but prioritise retreating," Pearce ordered. "We need to finish our withdrawal ASAP so we can gain a more advantageous position. Our team will try and cover you whilst you pull back. Campbell, Clinton and Hobart team have already withdrawn or are fighting a withdrawal action."

As the radio went dead, Liam spotted the bulk of the Tiger swing into the street down from them about 100 yards away. A few moments later an 88mm round sailed over the top of the Churchill to hit the IS-2 in the turret, glancing off with a mighty clang. However, it was not the IS that was the greatest threat to Allenby team, but more the tanks rolling into the side streets, intent on flanking the heavily armoured infantry tank.

"I get a feeling this could end up like the Song of Roland," Bethan said, as she traversed the 6-pdr to look for weak spots in the IS to their front, "A final stand against many enemies, pierced in many places."

"I would rather it look something more like the Battle of the Morannon," Will replied, "Heroic last stands are only my thing if there's a happy ending."

"I doubt that's going to happen bro," Liam answered, glancing down a side street to the right, "That 85 down there isn't looking particularly like it's going to show much mercy."

Off on the Churchill's right flank, one of Pravda's 85s had rolled up a parallel street and was taking aim at the vehicle's weaker side armour. A bit of desultory fire from Campbell team, who were playing very cautiously due to their role as flag tank, did not distract the T-34, but rather drew in the 76 covering their flank to respond, with Clinton team doing likewise, their Cromwell exchanging shells with the Pravda armour.

Undeterred, the T-34/85 turned down the side street to evade the shellfire, continuing to track the slowly moving Churchill with its 85mm. The resultant shot hammered into the side of the Churchill, nearly shearing into the track guards along the top of its side. The lumbering tank stopped dead.

"I think they might have got the tracks with that one," Liz reported, "We're certainly not going anywhere."

Making a snap decision, Liam clipped his radio transmitter, "Pearce, we're out of it, they've tracked us. Just leave us to it and get out of here."

"Understood. All units, fall back on Wavell team with all haste, Allenby team have been immobilised," Pearce's clipped voice came over the radio, sounding mildly frustrated.

A silence descended inside the Churchill, broken only by muffled crumps as gun reports echoed around them.

"Well, what are you just sitting there for?" Liam shouted, "It's not much of a last stand if we aren't fighting back!"

With frantic swiftness, Bethan and Will manned their stations and began the process of retaliating against their closing enemy, the Churchill's turret traversing left and right as it laid down fire against Pravda's tanks.

"Pop smoke!" Liam ordered.

The turret mounted smoke projectors went into action a moment later, blanketing the heavy tank in a cloud of obscuring smoke. While the tank was still immobile, and hence a target for Pravda's tanks, which by this point had virtually surround the beleaguered heavy, it did make aiming for weak points a great deal harder, thus meaning that many shots were wasted on the tank's thick armour. Sadly, the smoke began to clear relatively quickly, exposing the beached Churchill to their opponent's fire once more. It was the original 85 that had engaged them from the flank that made the killing shot, slamming a shell into the side crew hatch of the Churchill with concussive force, finally putting the infantry tank out of action.

"That was a real pounding," Will groaned, picking himself up and rubbing the few new bruises he was sure to be acquiring.

"I know, right?" Liz said, "The rest of the team better grateful after this."

"Aye, they better be," Liam agreed, "I hope we bought them enough time."

Allenby team's valiant stand had indeed bought the Wellesley team to retire in good order to the South-eastern ridge overlooking the town. A few of Pravda's bolder captains had attempted to pursue, but some brutal suppression fire from Wavell team and the other tanks that joined them on the ridge persuaded the Russian armour to remain penned in the town. The very same strategy that Pravda had employed to trap the Brit forces in the hamlet now worked against them as their foes fell back behind the ridgeline. However, with Allenby team now wrecked, and their foes fleeing before them, Katyusha's decision was prompt and decisive.

"After them! They flee like rabbits before Katyusha! Run them down!"

Pravda's tanks, no longer under fire from the cadets on the ridgeline, poured out of the village in hot pursuit of the Wellesley students, determined not to give them chance to regroup and fight back. The British academy had gained but a brief respite as the T-34s locked onto their trail once more, producing a running gun battle as they continued to flee in the face of Pravda's aggression. With the snow still flurrying around them, obscuring visibility and making the going worse, the cadets could only watch as the Russian tanks, with their lower ground pressure and wide treads, closed in for the kill.

**The Stands – 1030hrs**

"Hmm, four tanks lost to three, and with a disadvantage of one to start with, it would appear that our British colleagues have come off worst thus far," Darjeeling observed.

"It would seem that Katyusha's plan has been most effective," Pekoe replied, pausing to shake the gathering snow off her blanket before it could melt, "But weren't Oarai in a similar position to this last time, and with greater odds stacked against them."

"They certainly were my dear. This match is by no means over yet."

Elsewhere, Kuromorimine's officers were also discussing this new strategic development.

"They are fleeing like rats from a sinking ship," Erika scoffed, "A pitiful fight into an even more pitiful flight. These foreign cadets had best go home now if this is all they have."

"It does indeed seem grim for the cadets," Maho acknowledged, "Although it is not quite lost for them. Battles have been fought and won in the face of greater odds before, it merely falls to them to step up to that challenge, or falter in the face of it."

"I'd personally predict the latter," Erika said haughtily.

'You would,' Maho thought to herself. It was rare for Erika to espouse any amount of faith in anything other than Kuromorimine's superiority, so to hear it in this instance hardly surprised Maho.

Maho found herself wondering what it would take for Erika to show much other than her usual scornful superiority, as she'd actually never seen anything beyond her second's serious demeanour. Ironically, one of the people Kuromorimine's commander knew least about was the person sitting directly beside her – Erika was one of the unshakeable constants in Maho's life, dedicated and unwavering, but beyond her role as Vice-Commandant, she was an enigma. Perhaps it would behove Maho to actually get closer to her second in command, especially since the brunette's circle of friends was somewhat limited given her station, with the vast majority of Kuromorimine either too much afraid or in awe of their aloof commander.

"Would you care to find refreshments with me after the match has ended? I believe it would be a pleasant diversion before we return to Kuromorimine," Maho said, taking the most direct route to solving her predicament.

Erika was somewhat surprised by the question. For Maho to talk anything but business outside of holidays or festivities was uncommon.

"Of course, commandant, but what is the occasion?" the blonde attempted to discern her superior's intentions, as this was a very left field request from Maho.

"None, I merely felt it might be an agreeable diversion once we are finished here. I am sure Ritakio is managing just fine on her own," Maho skilfully obfuscated, ignoring the sense of apprehension that came with the latter half of her statement.

Despite Maho's convincing tone of voice, Erika remained somewhat unconvinced of her commandant's motives, but swallowed her apprehensions. Perhaps she was getting fearful over nothing, after all the Christmas meal they'd had after the previous tournament hadn't turned out to be a performance review as most of the team, including herself, had feared. She decided simply to assent, regardless of the consequences.

"Of course, commandant, thank you for the offer."

Giving Erika a polite smile, Maho nodded, and turned her attention back to the match, watching as Pravda maintained their ferocious pursuit of the fleeing British team.

**The Battlefield – 1035hrs**

Wellesley's forces maintained their flight from Pravda's resurgent forces, heading southeast on a straight path away from the village. The two sides' opposing armour exchanged rounds as they rolled across the frozen tundra, sullying the pristine white blanket of snow with heavy ordnance and clattering tracks. A short while into this pursuit, Montgomery's communicator felt there was something she should raise to her captain.

"Erm, Sam?"

"Yes?"

"The way we're headed, it goes straight towards this lake, here, grid point 0593." Jo reached backwards in her seat to pass the canvas to Andrew, who passed it on to Pearce and carried on loading the 88.

"Yes, I was aware of this," Pearce replied, "It changes little. We hold course."

"You intend to cross the lake while under fire?"

"Indeed. The lake will have sufficiently frozen in this temperature. I took the liberty of checking that little fact before the match. We will still need to be cautious, especially our team, given the weight of the Tiger, but we should have no issues."

"If you're sure," Jo said, somewhat unconvinced by the plan.

"We must risk a great deal to make sure we win," Pearce stated, his tone brooking little insubordination, "Inform the other teams. They are to cross the lake as fast as possible in dispersed formation. It will help disperse the weight of the tanks on the ice."

"Understood."

As the communicator turned back to the radio set, clearly somewhat displeased with the course of action Pearce was taking, Andrew leaned in as he fed another round into the breech of the Tiger's powerful cannon.

"Are you sure about this Sam? It does seem kind of risky. What's to stop them following us anyway?"

"We are doing this, Mr Roberts, it is the only way I can see to winning this match. As for your second question, we shall solve that when we get there."

"Would it not be better to just stand and fight? Sure we might lose, but it's better than putting anyone in danger right? I mean, if the ice breaks under our tanks, that's game over in a far more serious way than being taken out by Pravda."

"Much must be risked to secure victory. Failure is not an option."

Seeing that the captain would not be swayed from his course, Andrew went back to his loading, silent, but not content with the answer he had received. As dedicated as his friend was to his duty, this was a new level of unswerving that Pearce was displaying in pursuit of victory. True enough, when they had done tactical exercises in class, the diminutive captain could afford to take victory at a high price, but in a game like this, playing with peoples' lives could have far worse repercussions.

Nor was the order to cross the frozen lake received well by the other teams in Wellesley's column, with responses ranging from muted assent to serious doubt. The only team not to relay at least some form of questioning back to the command tank was Campbell team, as Clark dealt with that herself. The other four girls in the tank with her silenced their protests soon enough in the face of her steely determination

Wavell team were a little less gung-ho in their appreciation of this new tactical gambit, the least impressed of the lot being Olivia, who was somewhat concerned by the riskiness of this manoeuvre.

"But what happens if the ice falls through…"

"Olivia…"

"And even worse, what if we can't get the hatches open in time?"

"Olivia."

"To top it off, I still have that history paper to do!"

"Olivia!" Chris shouted, a rare enough occurrence for him, for the third time. "Christ on a bike, calm down. You're getting yourself worked up over nothing." At least he hoped it was nothing, and that the communicator's fears were unfounded.

None of the teams had the chance to dwell on the orders for long, as they soon reached the lake in question, a roughly half kilometre across body of water that stretched for a couple of miles around. The ground sloped gently down to the edge of the water, which had been covered in a solid sheet of ice by the day's weather, as well as reasonable amount of snow. Spreading out and speeding up to minimise the risk of over-burdening the frozen ground, Wellesley's tanks approached the lake, chased by a few stray rounds from the Russian armour pursuing them.

The first vehicle to reach the water's edge was that of Clinton team, the 28 ton Cromwell skidding slightly as it contacted the sheet ice, but otherwise finding purchase and roaring forward. Not so much as a crack was heard, and soon the rest of Wellesley's armour descended to try their luck on the lake. Hobart team, Wavell team and Campbell team all clattered onto the ice with no problems, the light and nippy British armour soon zipping their way across the solid body of water.

After a few moments hesitation, it was Montgomery team's turn, their bulky Panzer VI bringing up the rear of the little column. Nudging the heavy tank down the slope, Stephen brought it gently onto the ice before opening up the throttle. A little bit of ominous creaking could be heard from the protesting surface, but no cracks were heard as of yet. The 57 ton behemoth gradually picked up speed, benefitting from its wide tracks in gripping the ice, and was soon following its colleagues to the far bank, where Wellesley's team began to assemble at the top of another small ridge.

However, Monty team weren't out of the woods yet. Whilst the thickly layered ice had only mildly protested at the edge of the lake, as the weighty AFV approached the middle of the frozen body, the strain began to tell. A few cracks began to be heard, increasing in volume. To make matters worse, the first of Pravda's T-34s could be seen blasting over the rise back at the shoreline, intent on running down the routed British. Curiously, they didn't open fire, even as they closed in. Sat up in the cupola, Pearce watched events unfold with a detached expression, but inside he was deeply worried. Unless he did something drastic, his forces would be run down sooner or later and crushed by the Russian tanks. With that in mind, he clipped his throat transmitter.

"All teams, prepare HE shells. We need to stop this pursuit. Aim just behind Montgomery team and fire."

A stony silence settled over the radio net for a few seconds before someone responded.

"What the hell are you thinking Sam? That's crazy!" Katherine shouted, voicing exactly what most of the team were thinking. "The ice could go through on you, or someone on the other team!"

"She's right, Sam," Chris chipped in, sounding unusually serious, "This is a foolhardy order and you know it. Think up something else, or at least let us take an honourable defeat."

"There is no other way," Pearce replied, "Victory is the only thing that matters now, and I have to do whatever it takes to achieve it. No questions, no regrets, only the objective. Now comply with your orders."

"No," was Chris's response. "This order clearly does not come from our rational, sane commander and hence I do not recognise its authority. Wavell team will stand down until sensible orders are issued."

"Clinton team is following the example of our colleagues in Wavell team." The disappointment in Katherine's tone was evident.

Shortly after, the Cromwell and the Achilles both vanished over the ridgeline. Silently, the Comet of Hobart team accompanied them. Only the Chaffee remained, although Campbell team were riven on obeying the order or not. Charlotte and Marian were distinctly against complying, whilst Angela and Louise were in favour of following orders. Only Alexis had yet to decide, possibly the most pivotal crew member involved, since she was the gunner. She had laid the gun, and the breech was primed with a High-Ex round, all that remained was her decision to fire the cannon or not. Alexis, normally a cheerful and happy-go-lucky girl, was internally split – her conscience warred with her dedication to duty, and her respect for Angela who, like the rest of Campbell team, she viewed as a big sister.

"Alexis, please just fire already," Clark growled.

"Alexis, you can't do this," Charlotte pleaded, "You know someone could get hurt by this."

"Oh please," Louise countered, "You're from a military academy. Grow up, you're going to have to hurt people someday if you keep going in this profession. That's what soldier do, you may as well get used to it."

The argument continued in this manner for what seemed like an age, but was really only a minute or so. Clark, growing tired of this waiting, simply reached across her close friend and pressed the trigger herself, sending the shell hurtling towards the lake with inexorable force. The HE round hammered into the ice about 20 yards behind Montgomery team, generating a huge plume of freezing water and displaced ice. The sound of the explosion was accompanied by cracking as the ice around lost a great deal of its structural stability, looking visibly weaker than before, with large fault lines in some places. While the round in itself hadn't shattered the surface a great deal, a small push more and the think frozen skin on top of the lake would simply fall apart.

While most of those watching were understandably fearful of what had just been done, Pearce looked on with distinct disappointment. Without the force of several guns to thoroughly pound the sheet ice into shattered pieces, most of the lake looked remarkably intact, albeit greatly weakened. He needed more power to secure their line of retreat.

"Liam, traverse turret, 180 degrees. Andrew, load HE. Turret elevation at maximum depression. Fire when ready."

His team looked at him aghast. Andrew and Liam, who had almost mechanically followed the instructions issued, caught themselves as they went to their task, Andrew actually slamming home the round in the breech before he realised what he was doing. The turret came to a stop at about 120 degrees round.

"Do I need to repeat myself?" Pearce asked.

"No, you made yourself perfectly clear," Liam said, "I'm just choosing to ignore that order because it's bloody stupid."

"This is crazy Sam! What possibly possessed you to think that endangering people's lives was a good course of action?" Jo shouted. "What reason do you have for this?"

Hearing such opposition coming from people who he thought he could trust implicitly, Pearce had a moment of doubt. He quashed it immediately, however, none of them understood why he was going so far to win. It pained him that he was damaging his relationships with his friends, but it was necessary to win.

"If you had to fight to ensure you could live the way you wanted, how far would you go to achieve victory?" Pearce questioned, almost rhetorically. All he got were questioning looks from the crew, who were thoroughly confused by what he was saying. Sure, they wanted to win, for the pride of their academy and to prove their skills, but there was nothing beyond that compelling them to strive for victory.

While his crew debated internally over what their captain had just said, Pearce attempted to repeat what Clark had done about a minute before, only for Liam to bat his hand away from the firing mechanism.

"I won't let you do this," the normally sleepy gunner said.

Pearce instead reached behind himself. "You disappoint me," he said, pressing the triggers on the S-mine launchers mounted on the tank's hull. The small launcher tubes, positioned on the turret and hull, fired their small but powerful payloads, unleashing several nine pound bombs onto the ice behind the Tiger, exploding on contact. Stress lines spidered out from the already strained lake surface, but crucially the ice did not shatter, even as the fractures followed the path of the Tiger to the lake shore. The lack of actual breaking in the ice disappointed Pearce, as he was hoping to make the way across entirely impassable for Pravda's pursuing vehicles and thus buy the team time to find a more advantageous position.

"You do realise what you've just done, right?" Liam said, looking halfway between infuriated and disappointed.

"Slowed an enemy pursuit by advantageous manipulation of the terrain, thereby all-"

"Wrong! You've put the lives of people in danger! Get up in the turret, like you are so wont to do and watch what you've just caused," Liam interrupted, clearly angered by the dispassionate and unconcerned response.

Listening to the gunner, Pearce clambered up into the cupola and stared out across the frozen expanse to where Pravda's advancing armour had begun crossing the ice. The first tank to hit the ice was one of the 85s, leading the other remaining four T-34s in a swift pursuit, followed by the lumbering KV-2 and heavy IS-2. Whilst the T-34 gave the hole created by Clark a reasonably wide berth, as it skidded across the frozen water, time slowed to a crawl for Pearce. He saw exactly what was coming as soon as the tank rolled across the stress fractures, which slowly crept outwards even further. A deafening crack followed, followed by many more as the ice began to shift, slowly at first, but rapidly accelerating as the various slabs of solid liquid were upset by the rolling armour. A crash later and the 85 was listing to one side, as a large slab of ice began to upend under the tank. Panicking, the crew fled for the hatches as their comrades stopped their tanks on the more solid patches of ice and bailed too so that they could help their friends. The five schoolgirls that had been crewing the 85 bailed from the stricken tank, which was leaning more into the water with each passing second. Even as they fled, one of them slipped on the ice, and had to be dragged to safety by two of the other Pravda crew members before they ended up in the icy drink. It didn't take long after that for the endangered T-34 to crash into the freezing water of the lake in a fountain of spray and dislodged ice.

To say this was a revelatory moment for Pearce would be selling it short. Forced to watch this terrible scene, a sense of dread growing inside him as he did so, he saw in great detail the horror unfolding before him. Had he truly nearly caused the death of those unfortunate girls, who he saw being pulled away from the danger zone by their friends, some freezing from contact with the sub-zero waters of the lake, all bearing a look of relief that they had survived such a potentially lethal event? Had the tank listed quicker, or the ice simply shattered beneath them, it was unlikely that all or even any of them would be around to feel relieved. In his own selfishness and pursuit of his own goals, he had endangered the lives of others purely to gain an advantage and achieve victory. Pearce stood in his cupola, frozen, staring out over the expanse of snow and ice with dead eyes, and he could feel the angry glares from all of Pravda's team directed back at him, as well as the collective disgust of his own team.

**The Stands – 1045hrs**

As the events unfolded, the crowd in the stands gasped. The men and women present were shocked by the actions of the British team, as well as the near miss for some of Pravda's students, and angry murmurings could be heard from some of those spectating regarding sportsmanship and honour. Even the normally cheerful girls from St Gloriana were thin-lipped and grim at the sight. One could almost hear the sound of cracking china as Darjeeling gripped her teacup far too tightly.

Kuromorimine on the other hand, were far less affected by the incident. Erika frowned at it, but not due the move conflicting with her morals. No, it was more because she disagreed with the concept of a withdrawal altogether, and the attempt to deny the enemy the ability to pursue merely compounded the situation. When one went into battle, one should stand and fight, irrespective of casualties. Maho, unlike her subordinate, kept her composure neutral purely due to long practice. She could envision her mother watching this match and applauding such a drastic tactic were it not part of a wider retreat. Maho personally disapproved of the gambit, but she withheld complete judgement for the time being.

Those of the tankery students spectating who were the most visibly affected were the quartet from Oarai. Yukari was incredibly vocal on the subject, but it wasn't the brunette loader that Miho focused on. It was the blonde sat next to her, hands clasped so tightly into fists as to actually draw blood, a few beads of which trickled down her wrists and began soaking into her coat sleeves. Erwin's expression was so taut with rage and sorrow that it looked like one stray comment could detonate an entire powder keg of emotions. She was muttering something to herself, but between the chatter of the crowd and the incensed comments of Yukari, Miho could only barely hear what was said.

"I was going to try and make things right. Now I'm debating whether I should berate him or outright strangle him for this heinous behaviour. What happened to 'Krieg Ohne Hasse?' What happened to my friend?"

Miho resisted the urge to grimace at how hurt this was clearly making Erwin, but she thought it wise to let Hippo team's commander think it over for herself rather than risk upsetting her anymore. Miho herself was less affected than any of the other Oarai girls present, being highly accustomed to seeing dangerous gambits in tankery matches from long experience, accidental or otherwise, as well as having been raised under the stern hand of Shiho Nishizumi, whose ethics regarding tactics were questionable at best. This was not to say she didn't find it distasteful, but much like her sister sat some distance away, she was not so prone to hasty judgements or over emotional displays. Thinking to herself as usual, Miho only caught the end of what Yukari had been saying to her.

"- at least Miss Nishizumi would never stoop so low, and I'm really glad of that fact," Yukari beamed, her usual effusive praise for Miho failing to net anything other than an embarrassed reddening of the latter's cheeks.

"I don't think I'm quite deserving of such a high opinion," Miho said.

"But you are!" Yukari contested, "You always fight with honour and concern for both those under your command, and those on the opposing side. It really sets you apart, Miss Nishizumi that you are as caring as you are."

"I just don't want to see anyone get hurt," Miho replied, thinking back to the painful experience with her friends at Kuromorimine. "But having been raised in the family I have, I should tell you not to be so hasty to judge what you have just seen. My own sister is proof that you cannot merely rely on first impressions."

Miho's carefully chosen words served to calm the hot-headed loader down sufficiently, as Yukari relaxed a little, and adopted a little bit of a thinking expression.

"You're right, Miss Nishizumi. Perhaps I should dig a little deeper than judge people I barely know."

The youngest Nishizumi favoured her friend with a smile, garnering a radiant grin from the tank-obsessed girl.

**The Battlefield – 1100hrs**

The rest of the battle passed in a blur for Wellesley team. With Pearce unresponsive, to both his own crew and transmissions from the other tanks, command fell to Clark, who stepped up with grim determination. Since her superior had bought her time to regroup shift to a more advantageous position, the stern looking girl used the precious minutes garnered to bring the tankery team into a defensive position further south of the lake. From what she had seen thus far, Pravda's gunnery was average at best, and the best way to counter this was to lay barrages down at long range where the more powerful guns on the British tanks could eliminate the relatively thin-skinned T-34s. Thus, she laid down plans for several fighting withdrawals from advantageous position to advantageous position, hoping to break Katyusha's advancing force like water on rocks.

The first engagement proved the most successful. Having concealed themselves fairly well in hull-down positions, Wellesley's tanks tracked Pravda's tanks as they advanced in pursuit, following the tell-tale signs of track marks to their targets. The first tank to fall had been the KV-2 surprisingly enough, its thick armour failing to compensate for the massive target it presented when confronted with Hobart team's 77mm.

"We got the mobile bunker," Elliot reported.

"They shouldn't have brought an artillery piece to a tank fight," Clark said, a smirk forming.

Immediately once the attack began, Pravda's armour spread out into a wider net and sought as much cover as possible on the relatively open tundra. Shifting from small ridges and craters forwards, the T-34s used bounding movements that one would usually associate with infantry tactics to advance, their fellows laying down covering fire as they did. It certainly helped them close with the British team, and eventually Clark had to consider calling for a retreat to a new position before the Russian armour could mix in with them.

'We've got even numbers for now,' she thought, 'and our tanks still operational are our most powerful, but the Russians will have the advantage at short range, as their tanks are more mobile in this environment. Keeping them at arm's length would probably be wiser.'

Any shred of doubt in her mind was purged as the IS-2 fired, making the first part of her statement false. The heavy shell of the Russian tank flew straight and true into Montgomery team's lower glacis plate, leaving the Tiger in a plume of smoke. Her fears were confirmed a moment later.

"We're out of it," Jo reported, "Sorry."

"Wounded?"

"None, but he still isn't responding to anything we do," the comms officer said, Clark knowing exactly who 'he' was. She should have known her upright colleague wouldn't be able to handle it, but she'd deal with that later.

The Tiger's crew hadn't been operating at maximum efficiency since the incident at the lake. While the low morale of the people aboard certainly wouldn't have helped, the loss of a crew member was always keenly felt in any tank. Without their commander to help positioning and target selection, the Tiger had neither taken out any enemy tanks in the engagement nor had it been hull-down properly, Stephen having left a fraction of the weak lower glacis visible for Nonna's brilliant sniping to wreck the heavy tank.

However, Clinton team did avenge Monty team a moment later, ending the match for one of Pravda's two remaining 76s, which had advanced over-zealously out of cover and paid the price for it. This left only the flag tank 76 operational for Pravda, shielded by the two 85s and the IS-2.

"We got one of the 76s," Katherine called in over the radio net, "Sorry we didn't get the flag tank."

"We'll get it in the next engagement," Clark said, trying to avoid saying something rude to Katherine. She'd never really liked Clinton team's commander much, she was too straight up and down. Sure she focused on her work with single-minded conviction, but was too much of a teacher's pet and moralist to be an effective cadet in Clark's eyes. "All teams, fall back on the next point. We'll continue this fight again from there."

Using the ridge as cover, the British tanks began to slip away, the rearguard left to Clinton team, as they had the speediest vehicle and the fastest firing gun, enabling the Cromwell to both lay down suppressive fire and flee at high speed. It took but a short time for the cadets to finish their withdrawal, as the lack of direct line of sight prevented Pravda from bringing Nonna's uncanny accuracy to bear on them again.

This time, Clark chose to employ dead ground in setting her positions, as she knew Pravda would predict the use of high ground defensive positions to give the powerful 17pdr guns their greatest advantage. Instead this time she chose to utilise the speed of the remaining Wellesley tanks in open engagements. Hiding Hobart and Clinton team in two deep depressions on their line of retreat, Wavell and Campbell team were set up about a kilometre further on, in predictable defensive positions, enticing the Russian armour into the trap.

Katyusha was not so easy to fool. Hiding the flag tank behind the bulk of the IS-2, she positioned the 85mm armed T-34s on the flanks, keeping a watchful guard. Their advance was far more cautious than it had been before, checking for signs of enemy activity with care and diligence. Thus, it was not difficult to spot the trails leading to the depressions in the ground, and the diminutive commander unleashed her 85s into the dead ground to fight the hidden British armour. Hobart team were first to fall to this attack, the tables having been turned on the ambushers with interest. They barely registered the 85 crashing into the dead ground near them, and only reacted when it was far too late. The D5-T cannon on the Russian medium tore straight through the side armour of the Comet, leaving it smoking and disabled.

Clinton team, on the other hand, were far quicker on the draw, and managed to narrowly avoid the first shot of the 85 attacking them. They responded quickly, and blasted the 85 at close range with their OQF six-pounder. This left Pravda with three tanks to Wellesley's three, although one of the latter's vehicles was dangerously out of position. However, it was soviet tank design that let the Pravda girls down here. Whilst the Cromwell of Clinton team was cornered in the depression, unless the Pravda tanks descended into the depression they were incapable of firing upon it, Russian tank design having never foreseen needing good gun depression. So, even though the Cromwell was cornered, it was ironically in an advantageous position, because if Pravda went to confront the other two British tanks, they left a threat to the rear, whilst rolling into the dead ground left the Achilles and the Chaffee free to move.

Something of a stalemate had thus developed. Pravda's tanks refused to advance, whilst the thin-skinned Chaffee and Achilles were loath to come within effective range of the Russian armour. Clinton team remained stuck in the dead ground they'd positioned themselves in, using the 85 they'd disabled as impromptu cover in case the opposition did eventually move.

"Well, this is a pretty little pickle we've gotten ourselves into," Alice commented, fidgeting with the turret controls as her patience began to fray.

"Don't worry," Katherine said, "If I know Angela, her patience will be running out by now, so one way or another, this match will end soon."

She was not wrong. The short-tempered commander was beginning to get progressively more frustrated with the stalemate, staring intently at the Russian tanks from the turret of her Chaffee. She would be taking it out on her commander later, seen as it was his fault they'd ended up in this mess in the first place. She shook thoughts of the post-game out of her head and thought over her options. Being the assertive woman she was, Clark went for the aggressive option.

"Louise, load an M89 shell. I'm tired of looking at the enemy." The loader slid the gun breech open and pushed in an innocuously marked shell as per her instructions. "All teams, prepare for aggressive movement on my signal. Oh, and put your sunglasses on. It's gonna get bright."

The Chaffee fired not a minute later, aiming for a patch of ground about five yards in front of the IS-2. As it impacted, Yukari gasped.

"That's an M89 shell, known as the 'Willy Pete' to US troops. It uses white phosphorus to produce massive clouds of smoke, and-"

The shell went off, emitting a blinding light that stunned the Russian tanks.

"-it is highly incandescent, meaning militaries also use it for tracers."

"Isn't it poisonous?" Miho asked.

"Well yeah, but only in case of direct inhalation. Because it's in an open space like that, and the tanks are pretty well sealed, there's no risk to the crews."

As the two Anglerfish crew members talked, Wellesley team swung into action. With a blanketing cloud of smoke and a momentarily stunned Pravda, the speedy Achilles and Chaffee closed the distance to their targets. Any confidence they had in their attack was shattered however, when the three Pravda tanks simply rolled through the bank of smoke and opened fire rather than opting to wait, their shots narrowly missing the two British vehicles.

"Remember, we only need to take out the flag tank!" Clark shouted. "Aim for the 76!"

This was easier said than done, as the vulnerable soviet tank was being ably shielded by its bigger cousins. The next tank to fall was the Achilles, blasted by the powerful IS-2, ably guided by Nonna. The guns of the Russian tanks next fell on Campbell team, only for them never to fire, as a plume of smoke and a detonation waylaid them. Clinton team, who had waited at the bottom of the depression until the last second, had roared out onto the plain and fired straight into the exposed rear of the Pravda flag tank. Slumping in the turret cupola, as the announcers heralded the end of the match, Clark sighed.

"I'm not sure whether to be pissed or elated that Katherine managed that. That was too bloody close for my liking."

**Chapter End**

**There will be no omake this chapter, as I've already subjected you to about 14,000 words of my slightly unhinged brain. On another note, I'm also thinking of creating a side series for this (as well as a potential sequel), which focuses on the social side of these characters, both canon and OC, instead of tankery and its challenges. This chapter had been worked on feverishly (and had sections rewritten more than once) for about a month now, when I've had the time and energy to do so.**

**I was aiming for a bit of an emotional peak here, with the risks Pearce and Clark were willing to take in order to win (and thus guarantee their place at the academy) being so flat-out dangerous that it would take quite a few people aback, again showing that tankery can often be confused with war, and where does the dividing line start? After this, we'll be shifting through a bit more of our characters finding themselves, as well as the Oarai match to give the canon characters more time to shine, because I'm aware I've somewhat neglected them.**

**Shoutout to the wonderful KnighteWolfe, who has written a sidestory which crosses over characters from his fic and mine, as well as provides some wonderful correspondence back and forth.**

**Another update should be forthcoming in August, but I am on holiday in the first weeks of that month, in a place without internet, so that's the most likely reason for me being late with uploads (seriously, when am I not late with these – may as well not bother with a schedule).**

**Anyway, I've rambled on enough for now, so I will return with another chapter at a later date.**

**Ja ne!**


	20. Chapter 20: An Oath On My Honour

**Hello chaps! HereticalShinigami here with the 20****th**** (yes, 20****th****, I can't believe it either) chapter of Girls und Panzer: Open Warfare. I also wanted to thank everyone who has soldiered through over 150,000 words thus far to reach this milestone with me. For a fandom which has comparatively few fics, I am staggered that I have reached around 12,000 hits and a reputable number of follows and favourites, especially given my admittedly mediocre writing ability. Thanks again, especially to those who have reviewed, followed and favourited my work, it means a lot.**

**This chapter is being written while I am on holiday as a note, such is my drive to carry on writing this. While I have no internet with which to help me write this, I do however have no distractions from writing, so I've been surprisingly productive thus far. Edit: This chapter was completed while I was on holiday, within about a week of me starting it.**

**Big announcement: This, the 20****th**** chapter of Girls Und Panzer: Open Warfare, started in July 2015, also marks my 20****th**** birthday, a surprisingly serendipitous occasion for me. So yeah, I'm no longer a teenage writer of bad FF, but a twenty year old writer of bad FF.**

**This chapter will feature a large amount of angst and character interaction, with absolutely zero combat. If that's not your thing, just skip between author's notes until the next battle. This chapter is also a major turning point in this story, and will mark its move away from angst and feeling down to return to the normal Girls Und Panzer cheerfulness.**

**Official tank of the chapter: The Jagdpanzer V, the Jagdpanther**

**To open this chapter, I present my favourite little pirozhki, as I just couldn't resist writing her a couple of sections:**

**Tuesday, 11****th**** February, Hokkaido Battlefield - 1045hrs**

"Nonna!"

While this shout was often heard by Pravda's crews, it was rare to hear such raw anger in the childish voice of their commander. For someone who often sounded so immature, the tone used by Katyusha this time was furious and authoritative, belying that the Russian team's commander was actually an adult, and one of the eldest members of the team.

Pravda were currently regrouping from their brief flirtation with an icy demise, the five team members of the sunken 85 surrounded by concerned crew members, shivering in the cold air and their damp clothes. The remaining tanks had pulled back to the lakeshore to avoid stressing the ice further, and the team were carefully keeping watch, as well as tending to their shocked friends. Katyusha, stood about twenty yards away from the nearest tank, was standing right next to the sheet ice of the lake, staring at the opposite bank as her second in command came over to her.

"Are they ok?" Katyusha asked quietly.

"They are as well as they could be in this situation," Nonna replied, her sibilant tone barely carrying to her superior.

"Good," Katyusha said, "It would be unfortunate if they were hurt. See to it that they are comfortable until a recovery vehicle arrives." Although the words were clinical, Nonna picked up on the feeling behind them. While Katyusha might behave like a spoiled, selfish little brat, behind that façade was an intelligent commander who cared for her subordinates, even if she would never admit it. It was only when she was alone with Nonna that Katyusha ever showed that side of her, and even that was rare. The little blonde found being serious exhausting, especially around other people, as they usually failed to take her seriously due to her short stature. Instead, Katyusha had decided to emulate the image most people had of her, as an immature little girl.

Nonna turned to walk away from her commander to see her orders carried out, but was stopped by the diminutive blonde speaking again.

"Nonna."

"Yes, Katyusha?"

"When you see that Tiger, shoot it. No exceptions." The quiet fury behind the statement was palpable. If it had been a setback or a mistake, something trivial in the grand scheme of things, Katyusha would have flown into a rage, something that was both adorable and scary to witness, usually more the former than the latter. However, it was evident that the actions of Wellesley's team captain had gone far beyond that. The little blonde was livid, far beyond superficial displays of anger.

"Understood." Truth be told, Nonna was hardly happy either. While she might epitomise the icy demeanour to Katyusha's mercurial and fiery temper, the tall girl was not totally apathetic, and the events at the lake had certainly irked the sniper. Nonna however decided that she would best express those feelings through her actions, and the judicious use of her IS's 122mm gun. Recriminations could be saved for a more appropriate time.

As Nonna began pacing off, impassive face exuding an aura of determination, Katyusha called out once more.

"Nonna! Don't forget to bring Katyusha's cocoa too!"

Were it not for the situation, Nonna would have smiled. It might have been to keep up appearances for the team, but there was no doubt that there was something adorable about Katyusha's childish behaviour.

**1120hrs**

Pravda chances at the title were over. Their T-34/76, serving as the flag tank, had been eliminated by an enemy that they'd at one point had trapped. The crews of their four remaining tanks, two of which were belching acrid smoke, looked despondent. They'd been so close to victory, only for the opposing commander to pull dishonourable tactics out on them and so give the British time to regroup. Nonna did however take some small shred of satisfaction in having taken the Tiger out of the game as she had promised. Parked one next to the other, Katyusha's T-34/85 and Nonna's IS-2 went idle, engines grumbling to maintain the warmth inside the crew compartment. The little blonde looked at her raven-haired friend, an expression somewhere between sadness and annoyance on her features.

"Katyusha will not cry this time," Pravda's commander declared. "This was not an honourable defeat, so it doesn't count. Only Mihosha has beaten Katyusha properly since Katyusha took command."

Nonna merely nodded in assent at the statement. "What will you do now?"

"Katyusha is tempted to give the boy who leads Wellesley a piece of her mind. Nobody cheats Katyusha and gets away with it! I'll send them all to the gulag!"

"I don't think we can put students of other schools in our detention hall."

"Shut up. Katyusha does as she pleases."

'Don't I know it,' Nonna thought. 'Unless it's the cookie jar on the top shelf. Then Katyusha needs some help to do as she pleases.' A small smile graced the elegant girl's face.

"What are you smiling at?" Katyusha asked suspiciously.

"I was imagining the warm bath I am going to have when I get back to the ship," Nonna replied straight-faced. "I am finding myself somewhat tiring of the cold." In some way, Pravda's sniper wasn't lying, as she was indeed looking forward to a hot bath after spending so long in the freezing cold.

"Ha! Katyusha is far too tough to feel the cold, unlike her second apparently."

"Is that why you had me bring your mittens for you?"

"Be quiet."

**The Stands, Shiranuka Hokkaido – 1100hrs**

As the damaged Wellesley tanks had been dragged in by the recovery crews, the crews who had returned with them had staked seats in the stands to watch the battle unfold. As a collective, most of the cadets were shocked as they watched the match continue to rage and their captain pulled his gambit on the ice. Admittedly the footage made it look worse than it was, as it failed to convey what Pearce was actually trying to do, but it nevertheless caused some concern amongst his classmates. Did they really want to be led by someone who would go to any length, just to win a tankery match? It was about this point, as Clark mounted her last offensive against Pravda that Montgomery team themselves showed up, albeit missing a member, and looking very sombre to boot.

"Where is he?" Hawke growled, the target of his question incredibly obvious.

"We don't know," Liam said in his usual tired drawl, "He hopped off the recovery vehicle as soon as he could and then vanished into town."

"He looked quite distraught," Stephen added, "He hadn't talked since what happened with Pravda's tank, and just stood there staring into the distance. Angela actually ended up taking command."

"I think he needs some time to himself," Jo said, looking mildly worried, both at the hostility some of the team were projecting, and what had happened to their team captain. "Everything that's happened has probably shaken Sam quite a bit and he'll want to reflect on it alone."

"Reflecting on its all well and good," Chloe retorted, "But his actions have sullied our honour as a collective, and I for one want an explanation why."

A murmur of general agreement went through the ranks of the cadets, although a couple looked somewhat more sympathetic. Jo guessed these were either the ones who empathised with Pearce, or simply did not see the demolition work on the ice as an illegitimate strategy. However these were clearly the minority, and the normally cheerful loader sat down, despondent with worry that the team might well descend into infighting.

**1120hrs – The Stands**

Miho had watched the last acts of the somewhat dramatic match with only mild interest. She was somewhat distracted, both by Yukari's constant chatter and her own contemplation. While St Gloriana obviously lay between them and the semi-finals, it was the prospect of facing Wellesley in the semi-finals that Miho was now concerned about. Hopefully she was correct in her withholding of judgement of Pearce for the moment, but if indeed this match was indicative of the cadet's typical style Miho was worried that somebody's safety could be endangered again, something she could not countenance.

As Pravda's flag tank was blasted out of commission by Clinton team, Miho looked at Anzu, who was still happily munching her favourite snacks, and the cheerful redhead nodded her agreement that it was time to leave. Or at least it would have been had Miho not looked past Yukari to find that the fourth member of their party was conspicuously absent.

"Good to see she has her namesake's aptitude for stealth," Miho whispered to herself. Of course it was no difficult feat to slip away from Yukari when the latter was thoroughly engrossed in something, but it still required at least a modicum of skill.

"Miss Nishizumi, Miss Erwin has vanished!" Yukari exclaimed.

"Yes, and she didn't tell us where she was going," Miho said. "Should we look for her?" she asked, turning to Anzu. The little redhead shrugged.

"She knows when our boat leaves," Anzu said, "And its not as if this a small town. We might find it quite difficult to find her."

"I think I know where she might have gone, but I couldn't say exactly," Yukari announced. "I can go and look for her while you two go to the harbour. I've got my phone, so I'll be able to contact you if needed."

"Would it not be better if we came with you?" Miho questioned.

"Well, I'm not sure if Miss Erwin would like it.." Yukari trailed off lamely, trying to avoid airing what her friend was probably doing.

"Erwin's gone to find that guy Pearce from Wellesley," Anzu said, "We know she knew him prior to this tournament, she said as much in one of our strategy meetings. There's no real need to be secretive about it by this point."

"As President Kadotani says, there's no need for secrets," Miho said, smiling reassuringly. "If you think we would be intruding on Erwin's business, myself and President Kadotani will respect that. I take it you want to go just to make sure she's alright, correct Yukari?"

"If that's ok.." Yukari shuffled nervously. "I was just going to observe to see if Miss Erwin is okay, and stay out of the way."

"That's fine," Miho said, "We'll see you for the boat. Don't forget, it's at 3pm."

"Got it." With that, Yukari smartly turned on her heel and hurried out into the thoroughfares of Shiranuka, so she could track down her errant teammate.

**Elsewhere, Shiranuka, Hokkaido - 1120hrs**

Samuel Pearce was not often unsure of himself. However, under the snow-drizzled shade of the trees of a park, he found himself unsure of himself on many levels. Most visibly, he was quite lost. Having been virtually only half-conscious for nearly the last hour, the result of a retreat into his own thoughts after seeing the near-death of some of Pravda's team by his own actions, the diminutive cadet had almost instinctually sought out the most isolated place for the quiet boy to recover his wits. This had left him in a tranquil park on the east side of town, where, amidst the frost-adorned foliage, Pearce sat and contemplated.

The boy's first thoughts drifted toward the match as a whole. How had he not seen that ambush coming? In assuming that Katyusha was, while smart, a logical and straightforward commander, Pearce had underestimated his opponent. Although his crews were better equipped and trained than Pravda's they had been at a crippling tactical disadvantage due to his lack of foresight, a damning indictment of his command capabilities on the offensive. His preference was usually to use manoeuvre or stratagem to draw enemies into the attack, and then counter them powerfully, but this meant that the enemy had to be willing to take the initiative. If the initiative were thrust upon to Pearce, as it had been during this match due to the adverse conditions and elusive enemy, the bespectacled cadet was out of his element, as shown by the match's progress. Forced on to the defensive unexpectedly, and without his ability to draw up contingencies, Pearce had had no choice but to order retreat, that had soon become almost a headlong flight.

'Then I made another, greater mistake,' Pearce thought, with a twinge of remorse.

It had been a logical move to the cadet's mind. Destroy the route behind you in order to deny enemy pursuit, hence giving you time to regroup. A sensible strategic gambit in actual combat. Except this wasn't actual combat. They were in safety-proofed vehicles from another era, competing in a tournament in order to become tankery champions. All tenets of war went out of the window under such conditions, and this is what Pearce had lost sight of. The five girls whose deaths he had nearly caused were not in any way a threat to his nation, nor his family or friends. They were enemies only in strictest sense of them opposing his team, yet he had treated their lives as fair trade to ensure the victory that he had assured himself he needed to win.

"I nearly consigned five people, likely not even eighteen yet, to a watery grave," he whispered to himself. "Hardly an example of honour on my part."

Pearce brushed snow off his already damp coat, and used a dry patch of his uniform jacket to wipe his glasses. A resigned sigh ghosted past his lips. What was done was done, unchangeable and permanent. With his own actions he had likely alienated his own team, as some of their reactions had shown to his orders. He had also almost certainly soured his relations with the other teams taking part in tankery too, at least amongst the native Japanese schools. On top of that, he could well face disciplinary action from Captain Hart if he thought that Pearce had gone overboard.

"I fail to see how this day could get much worse," Pearce muttered, pulling his thermos flask out of his coat pocket and unscrewing the lid. An attempt to take a draft from the flask netted him nothing. "Of course it could get worse. I appear to be out of tea." Shaking the thermos only got the cadet showered in a few drops of the remaining tea in the flask, some of which settled into a quite visible stain on his uniform jacket.

This was a comparatively minor thing, but it merely served to send the young man further into depression and despondency, especially since it reminded him of the more metaphorical stain on his own honour.

"Necessary to win indeed," Sam snorted. "I can't believe I was conceited enough to declare something like that."

"Sweat saves blood," a new voice said, "In this case, your hard work could have averted the need for anyone to get hurt."

A pair of dark, hollow eyes sought out the source of the statement, panning up from the ground that they had been staring at for the past half an hour. Locking onto a pair of combat boots, and panning up the long coat that swathed the speaker, Pearce's eyes met the mellow brown eyes of an old acquaintance.

"Were it not for the Rommel quote, I would have dismissed this vision as purely my own imagination," Pearce said. "However that statement is indisputable proof that my eyes are not betraying me. Is that really you Erwin?"

The blonde was taken a little aback by Pearce's civil welcome. She'd been building herself up for hostility and venom after their previous encounter, and polity was hardly something Erwin had anticipated. Although, given the exhausted look on her former friend's face, it was most likely that he simply couldn't muster the effort to be angry at her. Pearce's uniform was creased, dishevelled and stained. The boy himself had bags under his eyes, which were red-rimmed and downcast. Combined with his small size, the cadet captain looked pitiful. Erwin thus decided to avoid a more confrontational topic to start with, not wishing to browbeat an already distressed-looking man.

"It's me Sam. I've been looking for you for a while. I… wanted to talk," the blonde said.

Pearce said nothing, but gestured to the space next to him on the bench, inviting the reki-jo to sit down. After a moment's hesitation, Erwin acceded and took a seat next to the cadet. Neither spoke for a while, both waiting for the other to speak first.

"Did you mean it?" Pearce said at length.

"What?"

"When you said you missed me. Did you mean it?"

Erwin thought for a second. Before the match, it would have been an almost definite yes. Even as cold and terse Pearce had been when they had met the previous time, she still had wanted her friend back. The very fact she still treasured the hat she wore on her head was a symbol of the strong bond they'd had as children. But did she really want to be friends with someone who had just nearly caused five deaths, all to win a tankery match? That was the million dollar question here, and one Erwin couldn't answer without speaking to Sam a little more, so she chose to try and skirt the issue.

"I miss my childhood friend. The Sam that used to wander round all the museums with me, and who I used to talk about tanks and tactics and great battles with. And yes, I do want him back."

Erwin's deliberate deployment of the present tense was not lost on Pearce, who gazed at the reki-jo with a look of fear, almost anticipating that the girl would stand up and tell him that she wanted to never see him again. The blonde's face turned increasingly grimmer as she spoke, realising there was really no way to avoid this sensitive issue.

"But it is impossible to deny that you have changed Sam. You no longer smile, you speak without feeling and you seem not to care about others. I was shocked to see it in person, but given what you had said in your letters, it made sense. Until today. I was horrified by what you did. I thought to myself that that could not be the same friend I once knew, to be so honourless, so uncaring. So I came to find you, to ask you this: if you really are the Sam Pearce I used to know, what were you thinking?"

Erwin's voice had been rising steadily as she spoke to Pearce, to the point where she virtually shouted her question at Pearce. Her frustrated expression and strained tone of voice were the last straws for the distressed cadet. Like a dam bursting, Sam told her everything in a flood of sobs, starting from the beginning: how poorly high school had gone, how isolated he had felt, his fight with his parents over going to Wellesley, how desperately he had missed her. The last one tugged a little at Erwin's heartstrings, but she refrained from interrupting the boy sat next to her. She let Pearce enumerate how happy he had been to get into Wellesley, to gain some independence from home, how he had acquired some acquaintances he would love to call friends and that he wanted to stay at his school. Then he had described the ultimatum he had been given – win the tourney, or face being removed from his school by his parents. In his desperation he had given into the temptation to do anything to achieve victory, which had led to the total mess that was today's match.

When he had finished his tale, Pearce buried his head in his hands and tried to control his sobs.

"In my attempt to win a battle, I have ended up losing the war," he stuttered out.

An arm snaked around the cadet's shoulders and pulled him into a half-hug, the owner of the aforementioned appendage waiting until her bespectacled friend got a hold of himself before speaking again.

"The war is not lost. You have suffered a severe setback, that is true, and the road to victory is now ever harder than before, but success is still entirely attainable," Erwin said reassuringly, borrowing heavily from speeches in war films and books as she talked. "You must swallow your pride and do your utmost if you wish to regain your honour, but I think you might be able to do it, if you are indeed as forthright and earnest as you have been with me just now."

It was Pearce's turn to look stunned, hearing such conviction and faith from the blonde sat next to him. So used to providing his own drive and purpose, to listen to Erwin profess support was quite touching for the little cadet. This emotion was however tempered by the blonde's next statement.

"I do think you can redeem yourself, and I do think we can refresh things, but only when you have proven that to me will I call you friend once more. I am satisfied that the boy I once knew is still there somewhere, but I want you to find that part of yourself that you have buried away deep, and bring it back to light."

The cadet nodded at Erwin's ultimatum – if he had to open himself up and make himself vulnerable again, there was no better cause than for winning her friendship back. To that end, he stood up, straightening out his uniform as best he could. Fumbling with his collar, Pearce unclasped the ribbon that held his Knight's Cross, removing the precious award from around his neck. He leant forward, placing the striped ribbon around Erwin's neck, the latter freezing as he moved. When he withdrew, Erwin gazed down at the battle honour quietly.

"Sam, I-"

"That medal symbolises my promise. You gave me that Knight's Cross when we were children. But then we split apart, and we changed. You said that I am not the Samuel Pearce you used to know, that I resemble a different person, one who you would not like to know. So I give this medal back to you, in the hopes that I am worthy enough to win it back one day." Pearce's eyes, normally lifeless and dead, had but a spark of fiery determination in them that stirred a brief flicker of emotion in the girl gazing at him, reminding her of old memories. She resisted the urge to grin, instead choosing to give him a wry smile.

"I still haven't forgiven you yet, but you've made a good start," Erwin said. "You told me that you'd treasure this forever when I gave it you. I'm not sure whether I should be touched or insulted that you'd gamble it so readily."

"I assure you I would far prefer the former." The blonde's eye twitched. That emotionless tone of voice and detached speech would hopefully be the first thing Pearce would change, as her attempt at levity went straight over her friend's head. "The point of me giving it to you was to prove that I am willing to give you my most treasured possession as a sign of commitment."

Again, the quiet boy had hammered home another armour-piercing statement unwittingly.

"Most treasured possession?" Erwin asked.

"It is a keepsake of someone I held as family, if not by blood then by bond. I would be a fool not to hold something like that as valuable above all else." The flat, crisp tone of Pearce's voice still managed to convey a great deal of conviction and feeling. "Despite its value in such a way, I would not hesitate to sacrifice it to have even the slightest chance of reforging that bond."

Erwin paused for a moment before removing her hat, and taking out a piece of paper that had been hidden under it. Handing it to Pearce, she watched as the boy unfolded it, staring wide-eyed at what he knew was his last letter to her.

"I kept that letter, and all the others before it, as keepsakes of someone I cared about deeply too."

Incredibly focused on preventing his eyes from watering, Pearce wordlessly opened his coat, and felt about in the inside pocket for a similar item, which he passed to the reki-jo. She frowned when she saw the date at the top.

"This…. is just one of the letters I sent you. Anything significant?"

"That is the last letter I received from you," Pearce said quietly. "I was hoping you could explain."

"I sent you one letter every fortnight for a little over a year after this one was sent," Erwin said. "I only stopped sending them a few months after I stopped getting them from you."

"I thought you had forgotten about me," the cadet murmured. "I'm sorry I doubted you. Christ, I feel like a complete fool."

"Evidently our communications were disrupted," Erwin mused, "I did find your last communique strange when it arrived, as I had sent you a letter two days before that if I recall. That you explicitly said that you were not receiving my letters was curious given the circumstances, but I had no other contact method with which to get in touch with you."

"Considering that I don't maintain social media, it would be quite difficult to find me as well." Pearce added.

"The strangest bit is that it seems like my letters did reach you for a bit, only to suddenly stop. Did you move without telling me?"

Wellesley's captain looked confused at the question, almost as if the answer was obvious.

"No, aside from moving to Wellesley, where all mail has to be forwarded anyway since it's a school ship like yours, my family has remained in the same residence for nearly two decades. I would have notified you otherwise."

"Well then, I fail to see how you didn't get my letters," Erwin said, avoiding an accusative tone as much as humanly possible. She didn't want to start another argument after finally beginning to clear the air between the two of them.

"I might have an idea," Pearce replied, adopting a contemplative expression.

**Great Britain – Approx. 0200hrs (A beastly time in the morning)**

James Pearce sat at his desk in a tired fashion, nursing a cup of coffee, the very fact he was drinking coffee not tea indicating his exhausted state. The beverage also had at least two spoons of sugar in it, to further provide the man with sufficient energy to wake him back up. He had been woken up from less than an hour's sleep by the sound of his phone, heralding a terse message telling him to get on his computer for a video conference.

Whilst he waited for the inevitable call from Shiho Nishizumi, James cast his eye over to a small stack of papers on his side table, concealed sufficiently under a paperweight to not arouse suspicion. He should have had them shredded a long time ago, he kept telling himself, but the eldest Pearce still could not bring himself to erase the handwritten notes, even as much as he had disapproved of that Matsumoto girl his son had gotten on with.

It was not long before the stern-looking countenance of Shiho Nishizumi appeared on James's monitor, her posture and expression betraying nothing more than her usual air of focus and discipline. Unlike James, who was in his dressing gown and looking vaguely sleepy, Shiho was evidently wide awake and dressed in her usual well-cut suit, sans tie. She cast a disparaging eye over the Pearce patriarch even through the computer screen, conveniently ignoring the rather large time difference between the two of them that might explain her counterpart's disposition.

"Good afternoon, Dr Pearce," Shiho said, her tone betraying a lack of feeling to what she most likely considered unnecessary pleasantries. "I have found time in my schedule to contact you with some rather intriguing information. It pertains to the match your son's team played against Pravda High School this morning."

Resisting the urge to tell Shiho that it was neither the afternoon nor good, James instead chose to listen to the latter half of the statement and react accordingly. "I suppose it would be too much to hope that you called me to tell me that Wellesley have been eliminated and that I can expect my son home at the end of this semester?"

"Of course it would. I would have let you find that out of your own accord. I am a busy woman, not a paltry messenger."

James filed the annoyed tone in Shiho's voice away as useful information for getting under the superior woman's skin in the future. A successful woman and powerful head of a dynasty Shiho might be, but manners cost nothing, and her tone was beginning to irritate the head of the Pearce family.

"No, I thought I would tell you that I have been asked to provide advice with regard to an incident which occurred in the match today. Whilst Wellesley may have won, their conduct in the battle has been called into question as both unsportsmanlike and dangerous, and some have raised concerns as to their suitability to continue in the tournament."

James' mind, still somewhat hazy due to lack of sleep, and the mass of caffeine he had attempted to alleviate said tiredness with, went onto autopilot. Some of the words registered, but they were lost amidst the loud clamouring in his brain for sleep. "So am I to assume you are recommending that the academy be dropped from the tournament?"

"Don't be preposterous," Shiho snapped, bringing James straight back from his daydreaming.

"But why not?"

"Because I am no hypocrite. Whilst the Nishizumi School does not approve of retreat in most circumstances, something Wellesley did in their match, nor does it condemn extreme measures in securing victory. Victory is utmost, regardless of cost or ethics."

Shiho decided not to add that she had watched the replay of the incident in question several times, and had found no deliberate intent to cause harm, only a great deal of recklessness. She rather prided herself on her ability to analyse the ebb and flow of battle, something she was also proud to see in her daughters, but she felt no need to go into detail for this man.

"So you plan to advocate that they remain in the competition?" James asked, more than a little put out that it seemed Shiho was violating their agreement.

"I intend to use common sense – there was no serious injury, no danger that we haven't seen before in the league and no violation of any rules. Thus I will recommend that Wellesley are allowed to continue in the tournament, albeit with a warning about conduct in our league if they wish to ever be invited back again." Seeking to forestall any protest from the man sat opposite her, Shiho spoke first. "However, the likelihood of them getting past the next round is limited, as Kuromorimine are on their side of the bracket. Where they might have shown some skill defeating Pravda, your British cadets will not provide a challenge to my daughter."

The last statement almost had James protest out of patriotic outrage, until he remembered that he wanted Wellesley to lose. It was the calm surety of Shiho that aggravated him, as the statements would almost certainly sound arrogant coming from anyone less prestigious than the head of the Nishizumi family.

"That sounds perfectly acceptable to me," the Pearce patriarch said at long last, an unspoken sigh detectable in his tone. "If your daughter is as skilled as you make her out to be, I should regard this as merely a timer until I can bring my son home, away from an ignominious death on the battlefield."

"Dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori," Shiho quoted at the researcher. "As I have said before, nay would consider the path your son is following to be an honourable one, following the footsteps of his forebears into faithful service for his country."

"A worn out quote, oft espoused by those who have sacrificed nothing themselves and never served," James retorted, too irritated to enjoy the affronted look on Shiho's face. "Forgive my outburst, but I have seen enough pine boxes draped in my country's flag for one lifetime, and have no truck with the idea that dying for your country is glorious."

Shiho, though incensed at the tone the older Pearce used towards her, as well as the insinuation that she knew nothing of sacrifice, refrained from a venomous comment about lineage lest she offer insult to the bravery of the man's fallen relatives.

Instead, she replied even-handedly, "Then we shall have to agree to disagree. Regardless, I have a busy schedule, and so will take my leave of you now, as I have said what I needed to. Good day."

The display went dark immediately, leaving James Pearce to stumble back to the welcoming warmth of his bed, where he would not really register much of what had happened until the morning arrived.

Shiho Nishizumi on the other hand, was fully aware of what had just transpired, and suitably frustrated. She called Kikuyo to bring her some coffee, as strong as it could be made. While she often found people irritating, this family was beginning to get on her nerves. Shiho found herself somewhat regretting that she had agreed to help James and Emma in bringing their son home, even if it suited her own purposes, but she was not a woman to go back on her word, so she had to bear it. Anyway, if the rest of the tournament went as the Nishizumi matriarch wanted it to, Wellesley would be sailing for Britain before the end of March, if not sooner, the Nishizumi style would once more be triumphant in the league, and she would never have to deal with the Pearces again.

That happy prospect foremost in her mind, Shiho drank her coffee, before flicking through another report.

**Isolated Park, Shiranuka, Hokkaido – 1200hrs**

Using her incredible knack for recon, Yukari was able to track down her errant friend without too much fuss, aided by some helpful locals who had taken note of Erwin's cute fox ear haircut and distinctive hat, although she had overshot the park by a couple of blocks before finding her target. A swift sweep of the park had then found Erwin sat on a bench with Pearce. Yukari had availed herself of the cover of the nearby trees to obscure her from line of sight, and then manoeuvred herself into a position where she could just about see the pair, and hear what they were discussing.

In her new position, comfortably insulated from the damp ground by aid of a small groundsheet in her backpack, Yukari listened. She caught the muffled parts of Pearce's sobbing, as well as the promises between the two and the small reconciliation. Although she was pleased to hear that they were talking civilly, her primary fear when she heard about Erwin's plan, the conversation itself was also eye-opening. Sam's issues making friends and connecting with people particularly stood out to her, given that she'd experienced similar issues before discovering tankery.

But the similarities ended there. Yukari had persevered in her interests, had found friends and was happier than she'd ever been for a long time. Pearce had lost his best friend, then shelved his interests, and his emotions, and not bothered finding friends, and was at best apathetic if not unhappy.

'I wonder how much of a push I'd have needed to become like he did,' Yukari thought, as she mulled over all that had been said.

"Quite a large one, I assure you," the reply said. "Before you ask, yes you did say that out loud."

Yukari's thoughts snapped back to the immediate with the haste of a bullet fired from a gun. She looked out from her position to see both of her observation marks looking back at her, one with a smug grin, the other a look of vague interest.

"But.. but.. I thought I was really quiet…"

"You were pretty good to start with Guderian," Erwin said, "But I heard you snapping a few twigs as you moved to your position, which I chose not to mention, but then Sam spotted your bag when he stood up, which he chose to mention."

"It's jutting out a little from the tree, and the metal toggles are shining in the sunlight," Pearce elaborated, "Shoe polish is usually the best method to take the shine off metal objects if you want them to blend in."

"Are you mad at me, Miss Erwin?" Yukari asked, thoroughly expecting at least one of the pair to be somewhat irritated by her eavesdropping.

"Do I look annoyed?" Erwin replied, "You were just looking out for me, like kameraden should. I don't think Sam is irritated either, right?" She shot a look at the cadet that told him he should confirm her statement.

"I must confess I was not best pleased to find out that you were eavesdropping, Miss Akiyama," Pearce said, Yukari's expression dropping a little. "But Erwin has made it abundantly clear that I need to stop hiding behind a mask and be more open with people. So can I please trust you to keep my secrets?"

Yukari took note of the tone of the boy's voice. Rather than the stern, uncaring timbre he'd used the first time they had met, it was a quieter, more amicable one. It had a note of pleading to it, and the brunette realised that by eavesdropping, she'd made herself privy to a great deal of highly private information, things that this boy evidently didn't want other people to know. And now he was asking her to keep these secrets as a bond of trust. Although she was not particularly enamoured of Pearce, who certainly hadn't left a good first impression, Yukari felt somewhat touched that someone was lodging trust with her, and the loader found herself stuttering out an affirmative.

"Of course, you can count on me," she said, receiving a wry smile in return.

"Thank you very much, Miss Akiyama," Pearce said earnestly, trying for a grateful tone. "Now do come and sit with us. I know that we didn't get off on the right foot when we first met, and I would like to offer my most sincere apologies to you for that, as well as my gratitude. I know it probably means little to you, but I felt I should apologise for my unacceptable behaviour."

Yukari just nodded, absentmindedly saying, "You should probably apologise to Miss Nishizumi and my friends as well."

"I intend to," Pearce replied, "Although I would be grateful if you could mention that to them. I would prefer to apologise in person, but that may not be possible for some time yet. Erwin, if you could extend the same to your friends, as I intend to make amends as soon as possible, but I do not when that will be."

"I'll pass the message on," Erwin said, "Although I suspect Saemonza may still wish to have a word with you. Or several, now I think about it."

"Is she the one who wears the bandana and the kyudo sling?"

"That would be her – Sengoku period Japan."

"Ah, from the famous samurai general. She wouldn't happen to be well-armed, would she?" Pearce said conversationally.

"I can confidently say she could arm a small militia were she so inclined," Erwin answered, thinking about all of the different deadly implements her friend had collected – blunted obviously, but still reasonably dangerous if one wasn't careful.

"So those few words wouldn't happen to likely include threats of bodily harm, would they?"

Erwin was almost tempted to lie to assuage the cadet's likely fears that he would come under attack by an irate reki-jo as soon as she saw him, but she couldn't bring herself to let Sam walk into that unprepared, even if he was taking it rather well.

"They would."

"Well, I guess I have that to look forward to, don't I? Any other likely threats to my health from your classmates?"

Yukari's hand tentatively went up.

"I think Miss Takebe might also be included in that list, given how protective she is of everyone else," the brunette added. "Although if you bring that tall guy with the long hair from your Achilles tank destroyer, you might be okay."

"Do you mean Mr Taylor? The captain of my SP M10?" Pearce looked perplexed. "Why would I bring him along?"

"Err, Miss Saori is a little easily… distracted by the other gender," Yukari said, tentatively trying to euphemise her friend's obsession with relationships.

"I think it might be best if you told her that he's taken beforehand," the cadet replied, somewhat uneasily, "I don't think relations between our teams would go well if she were to make any advances, not if Miss Armstrong sees it happening."

"Oh!" Yukari said, "Do you mean…"

"I don't pry into people's personal lives, but I believe they are dating, yes. As long as it doesn't impact upon their academic performance, the academy doesn't frown upon people dating. But anyway, I believe we are getting off topic. Need I fear any of your other compatriots should I run into them again?"

"Caesar is more inclined to give you a verbal beating than a physical one, but do watch out for errant gladii," Erwin said, "Oryou is fairly chilled though, so don't worry on that front. As for the rest of the team, you may encounter some barbed comments, but I'm sure they'll warm up to you if you can be nice to them."

"Barbed comments are hardly the least of my worries," Pearce, "I expect more than that from my own team given my own performance today."

"Why, will they be mad at you?" Yukari asked, not really familiar enough with the students from the military academy to know how they operated.

"Most likely. While more dangerous strategies yield results on the planning table, putting them into actual practice has raised the issues some of my colleagues have with those methods. I suspect matters may come to a head now, for better or worse."

"Ah, so your team recognises the logic behind dangerous strategies, but they don't want to see them employed?"

"Quite so."

"I think the problem lies more in the type of school you attend," Erwin put in. "Wellesley, as a military academy, teaches its students in combat and strategies for war. You have obviously brought that combative mentality to tankery – destroying an icy lake to prevent pursuit is clearly a legitimate tactic for a retreating army, but it will be looked on far less favourably in tankery, as it puts other people at risk. Tell me Sam, what do you see when you look at a tank?"

"An armoured fighting vehicle," Pearce said simply.

"And therein lies your problem," the blonde added, "For tankery competitors, the tank is as much a piece of sporting equipment as a racquet for a tennis player. Tankery is a sport, not a contained warzone. People should not be getting put at risk. You realised that when those girls in that T-34 nearly went in the lake – they are not your enemies, they are your fellow competitors, even if they are on the other team."

"Definitely," Yukari agreed, nodding her head vigorously, "Tankery has a big element of sportsmanship to it, the idea of mutual respect and fair play is held in really high regard by most teams. I know the tanks and the combat make it look a lot like a mock battle, but there's more to it than that."

"So there's some sort of code of behaviour and ethics to tankery?" Pearce said, looking intrigued, "I know Miss Kay from Saunders said something similar when I met her, but I dismissed it as a quirk or naivety. In the same way, I thought Darjeeling's talk of chivalry was derived from her faulty notion of Britishness."

"Well, the school they're from has in part determined how they approach sportsmanship and tankery," Yukari explained, "But on the whole, the idea of respect translates into not being sneaky, respecting other competitors, and fighting with honour."

"I think I'm following you now," the cadet said, "And I'm starting to see where I went horribly wrong. I was more concerned with winning, no holds barred, than offering a good competition."

"Some people do take tankery very seriously though, like those who follow the Nishizumi School," Yukari said, saying the name 'Nishizumi School' with some clear distaste, "But even they have lines they will not cross, although they are few. However, most tankery participants are far more moderate and sporting. After all, it is a competition, not a war. I know you have something at stake if you don't win, but do please remember that winning isn't everything. We made it through last term, and Miss Nishizumi made sure we did it honourably, even though our school was at stake, so I know it should be possible…" Yukari trailed off, having run out of encouragement and persuasive statements to give.

"I understand. Thank you for the advice Miss Akiyama, I will take it to heart when I am planning next. Clearly, even those trained for war are but novices when it comes to tankery, despite their resemblances. I have a lot to learn." Pearce paused for a second. "I should probably take my leave from you here. My team is no doubt waiting for me to return, for one reason or another."

"Oh, one thing before you go," Yukari said, unable to resist the temptation to ask, "Can I come and see the Tiger your team has, please? I really want to see one of the few authentic Tigers still owned by a team."

The bespectacled cadet was taken off guard by the question, although he seemed a little amused by it. "Perhaps some other time. It's not in the best state right at this moment, courtesy of Pravda's IS-2, another failing on my part. Now, I really should be going. Auf wiedersehen, Erwin, Miss Akiyama. I owe you a lot."

Straightening his uniform out once more, the Wellesley captain bowed his head in respect, and then turned on his heel, leaving the pair of Oarai girls alone in the park. The light snowfall whirled gently around them, settling on the girls' heads and pooling around them on the already white ground.

"So, Guderian, your opinion?" Erwin asked.

"I think you've made a good start at getting your friendship back on track," Yukari said, "Once you had all of the tense and serious business dealt with, it seemed like the two of you were conversing without any problems, although there was a little bit of awkwardness."

"I thought so too, I guess I was getting a bit too panicked," the blonde said, looking a little embarrassed, "Sam was a lot more willing to talk than I thought. You even saw him give me this, didn't you?" She showed Yukari the Knights Cross, hanging on its black, white and red ribbon around her neck.

"Wow, those are really rare! Especially with oak leaves added," Yukari said, quite excited to see such a prestigious medal, "I saw him give it you, but I never noticed what it was."

"I was quite touched to see that he had kept it. I just hope that I can give it back to him at some point, as promised."

"I hope you will too at some point." Yukari said earnestly, before adding light-heartedly, "Then I'll be able to see Tiger 131 too."

"And that, Yukari, is why you are known as Guderian."

**Dockside, Shiranuka, Hokkaido - 1200hrs**

As per usual after a match, Wellesley's disabled tanks were brought to the dockside to be reloaded onto the school's carrier, whilst the teams in vehicles still operational brought their steeds in under their own power. However, the usual air of camaraderie had been replaced by a rather charged air of tension and division.

Since her senior officer had vanished for a long-delayed reunion and reconciliation, Angela Clark had borne the brunt of her team's simmering displeasure. The more vocal elements of those who disapproved of their commanders' conduct during the match, such as Steven Hawke and Chloe Alexander, had irritated her to no end, and some of those exchanges had ended in vicious arguments, her side of which could essentially be summed up as 'I don't care, take it up with Pearce'. Now the black-haired adjutant was sat with her team, who had been more amenable to civil conversation, on the hull of their M24 Chaffee, trying to tune out the debates occurring in the rest of the team.

The Chaffee's crew were fairly reconciled to each other's viewpoints about the incident by this point, as their team dynamic was best suited to solving internal disputes. Angela's strong leadership, which helped contain arguments before they could go out of control, as well as her generally higher opinion of her crewmates over the rest of her team, meant that they were willing to speak about issues if necessary, and drop them if not. In this instance, it had been Alexis that had reunited the two factions within the Chaffee crew, as she had been the most on the fence about destroying the lake.

"I'm glad you were willing to hear each other out," the petite blonde said, looking between Louise and Marian, who had been the most vehemently divided of Campbell team. The pair in question had been glaring at each other until a moment prior, but after seeing their teammate's innocent and disarming smile, they couldn't bring themselves to contradict her.

As the team settled back into a slightly more comfortable quiet, it was Angela who spoke next.

"Look, I'm only going to say this once, so I hope you're all ears. Marian, Alexis, Charlotte, I'm sorry for not taking how you felt into consideration. I should pay more attention to what your opinions are, even if I don't like 'em."

It was Charlotte who responded, "Its okay, Angie. We know how much pressure you're under, and while we would like you to listen to what we have to say, you are our leader. We should have followed orders, even if we didn't like them. Otherwise, the chain of command falls apart, doesn't it?"

"I think it's a balance of trust," Marian added, "We shouldn't have to obey orders we clearly feel are wrong, but we can't complain about every order or we'd get nothing done. I don't think a lot of us are particularly comfortable with things that put people in danger while we do tankery, for example. I mean, it's a sport, and the people we're facing are technically civilians, even if they do operate tanks."

"Yeah, but surely they accept there's some element of risk, right?" Louise countered, "I mean, we use live rounds, for God's sake, people can't seriously expect that they can't get hurt."

"It's more the intent behind it, I think. I mean, accidents happen, but if you deliberately tried to cause harm, that's out of line," Marian said.

Louise gave a vague huff of agreement. It seemed that they had found their common ground. Even if the pair had their disagreements, and they were legion, a row later and they were over it.

"So Angie," the Campbell team loader said, "How do you think all this is going to play out? Are you going to be leading the team by the time of the next match?"

Clark's brow furrowed as she thought over her answer.

"I would not be lying if I said I quite like the idea of me becoming captain. But I'm not sure if I would be satisfied with the manner in which I got the position, if you follow me. I want to take the captaincy because I proved I was the best, not because I was the next most senior officer…"

"It would feel a little bit like a win by default, wouldn't it?" Marian said, getting a nod in response.

"Yeah, and I don't think it would be deserved either. For all he annoys me, Pearce is pretty smart. He can't inspire people worth a damn, but he's a good mind for tactics and strategy, better than most of this team-"

"Sounds like someone's got a crush."

"Can it Louise. Look, what I'm saying is that until I can take over the team properly, by showing that I'm the best damn leader in our class that apathetic kid has my vote to carry on. I don't like him, but he's better than all the others." Angela skirted round the little heart-to-heart the pair had had before the Pravda match, lest she invite more teasing from her friends.

"Yeah, I can get on board with that," Louise said, "Imagine if someone like Taylor ended up as captain instead."

"Anything would be better than that," Alexis said, "He'd roll up late to all the training sessions."

"Or let his girlfriend run them," Angela reminded Campbell team with a tone of dread, "That goody-two-shoes would have us training from dawn till dusk, no breaks. I think Pearce might be the lesser of several evils in this instance."

"And here I was thinking that I was the spawn of Satan himself to you girls," a slightly amused voice came from behind them. Angela, sat on the top of the Chaffee's turret, twisted around to spot the diminutive form of her superior officer, stood about ten yards away.

"Well, speak of the devil, and he will appear," she replied, almost good-naturedly, "I thought you'd deserted you were gone for so long."

"Maybe MIA, but certainly not AWOL."

Clark clambered down from the Chaffee to walk over to Pearce, where she leaned in to talk quietly to the smaller boy.

"The rest of the team are arguing about that stunt you pulled earlier. A few are calling for your removal. Some of the others are a bit angry. A few are sympathetic. My team have calmed down, but you'd better talk to the rest soon or it might damage morale."

"Understood, I intended to anyway. I also need to thank you for taking com- urk!"

Pearce's sentence was cut off by Clark smacking him in the chest, hard.

"No need to thank me," the black-haired girl said, with a serene smile on her face, "Just don't veg out on me again or I'll really lay into you. I expected better, Sam."

"Of course, Angela," Pearce answered, straightening out both his posture and his uniform once more, "Now before I have a talk with everyone, I don't suppose you have some tea?"

**Omake**

As Miho and the other sat watching the Pravda match come into its closing stages, Yukari was giving them the lowdown on the different weapons in use by the team when she spotted the streaking trail of Campbell team's Chaffee's latest shot.

"That's an M89 shell," Yukari exclaimed, "Known as the 'Willy Pete' to US troops. It uses white phosphorus to produce massive clouds of smoke, and-"

The shell went off, emitting a blinding light that stunned the Russian tanks.

"-it is highly incandescent, meaning militaries also use it for tracers."

"Isn't it poisonous?" Miho asked.

"Well yeah, but only in case of direct inhalation. Because it's in an open space like that, and the tanks are pretty well sealed, there's no risk to the crews."

"That's good news. If it's safe to use, that sort of ammunition could be incredibly useful. A direct flash would help to blind enemy crews, and thereby buy manoeuvre room, and the thick clouds of smoke afterwards would be superb for assaults and concealment."

"Indeed," Yukari agreed, "Certainly a useful shell to have in the rack just in case you need something other than the direct approach."

The pair of tankers paused for a moment before looking at each other.

"We'd make pretty good commentators, wouldn't we Miss Nishizumi?" Yukari said.

"I think you might be right Yukari," Miho replied. "I mean, you are pretty knowledgeable about all the tanks, shells and technical stuff."

"And you have the brilliant tactical and strategic mind to pick apart all the things the teams do in the matches," Yukari said, causing Miho to flush. "We'd be the best commentating team!"

"Well yeah, it almost seems like we end up commentating most of the matches even if we aren't trying to."

"Well someone has to provide exposure on the nonsense the author's writing."

**Omake End**

**I hope you enjoyed that little omake, inspired by the comments Theralion left on the previous chapter, where it was pointed out that I seem to deploy my spectating characters almost as commentators to help explain what's going on, particularly Yukari and Miho, who are incredibly knowledgeable in-universe and hence would be good at exposure on the battles. I might actually have to make that an actual thing for my characters, with a couple get hauled into being commentators.**

**The aim of this chapter was to begin getting through all of the really negative emotional content, and to start getting back on track with more of the Girls und Panzer themes – cheerful, good-natured, tank-based violence (heh heh). I know that developing my characters and all of the serious conversations can be a bit of a drag for some of you, so just bear with it for now. The light-hearted fluff and fast-paced combat will begin to dominate the story increasingly as we move towards resolving all of this. For a couple of chapters after this, our characters will be healing broken bonds, and begin making true Yukari's statement 'Today's enemy is tomorrow's friend.'**

**I know a few people have expressed discontent with the centrality of my main OC Pearce, as they think he over-dominates a story already sparse on the Oarai girls as it is. Sorry, but like Miho is the main character in the anime series, Pearce is the main character for my story. Fortunately, he will stop being angsty and wooden soon, as he starts to be more open with his friends and comrades.**

**I'm thinking of making a poll as to what I write next – I'm currently tossing about ideas for a sidestories series on this story, a bit like the spinoff manga for the actual Girls Und Panzer series, a sequel to this, or even starting a fic for a different series, like Sekirei or SAO. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the matter.**


	21. Chapter 21: Regrets and Restitutions

**Yo, this is HereticalShinigami returning with chapter 21 of Girls Und Panzer: Open Warfare. This chapter is going to see the recriminations of Wellesley's team, as well as a shift towards a new kind of tankery from the cadets. They've got a long way to go, but they'll get there. Besides that, we've got Oarai to cover too, as they prowl down the road to a confrontation with the other beloved Brits from the series. (Although that won't be this chapter, as once again I've written far more than I anticipated)**

**If you've got this far through the story, you're a real soldier, I know my prose can be pretty dense. I'm still improving after all (or at least I hope I am).**

**Anyway, without further ado, here's chapter 21 (with a minor recap from the previous chapter):**

**The Docks, Shiranuka, Hokkaido – 1215hrs – Tuesday 11****th**** February**

"I think Pearce might be the lesser of several evils in this instance."

"And here I was thinking that I was the spawn of Satan himself to you girls," a slightly amused voice came from behind them. Angela, sat on the top of the Chaffee's turret, twisted around to spot the diminutive form of her superior officer, stood about ten yards away.

"Well, speak of the devil, and he will appear," she replied, almost good-naturedly, "I thought you'd deserted you were gone for so long."

"Maybe MIA, but certainly not AWOL."

Clark clambered down from the Chaffee to walk over to Pearce, where she leaned in to talk quietly to the smaller boy.

"The rest of the team are arguing about that stunt you pulled earlier. A few are calling for your removal. Some of the others are a bit angry. A few are sympathetic. My team have calmed down, but you'd better talk to the rest soon or it might damage morale."

"Understood, I intended to anyway. I also need to thank you for taking com- urk!"

Pearce's sentence was cut off by Clark smacking him in the chest, hard.

"No need to thank me," the black-haired girl said, with a serene smile on her face, "Just don't veg out on me again or I'll really lay into you. I expected better, Sam."

"Of course, Angela," Pearce answered, straightening out both his posture and his uniform once more, "Now before I have a talk with everyone, I don't suppose you have some tea?"

Recognising the request for what it was, a request for a private conversation, Clark nodded, playing along, "I think one of the grease monkeys set up something when we started filtering back here so we could get brews. C'mon, I'll show you where they put it."

Fortunately for the pair, the engineers had put the little table with the portable water boiler on well out of the way of the heavy machinery, so they did not encounter anyone on the way over. Availing themselves of the life-giving liquid, Pearce and Clark found a quiet area, nicely secluded, where they could talk to each other. It was Pearce who spoke first, looking up at the taller girl with eyes far wearier than one so young should have been wearing.

"Do you recall our conversation prior to this match?"

"Yeah, what about it?" Angela was curious what Pearce had to say, although she had a sneaking suspicion, and her eyes narrowed slightly.

"When we were discussing how we needed to win to stay at our school. You said that we needed to be prepared to go to any lengths to ensure that. I… don't think I agree with that anymo-"

Any further attempt to explain himself was cut off as Clark lunged at him, absolutely livid. She swung several times at him, which Pearce elected to evade as best he could.

"You bastard Pearce! I should have known you'd pussy out! I cannot believe I trusted you, thought you might actually manage it," Angela shouted at her CO.

In light of their similar situations, she'd genuinely believed that if they worked together as best they could, in spite of their differences, they might be able to stay at their school. Now here he was, telling her that he was willing to concede defeat, and that infuriated the Wellesley second-in-command. She swung again, aiming to express her anger the best way she knew, through her fists.

*Thump*

The sound of flesh hitting flesh filled the immediate area, but rather than her fist connecting with Pearce, the diminutive cadet had caught Clark's arm by the wrist in a surprisingly tight grip, and was regarding his subordinate coolly.

"If you wouldn't mind, I wasn't finished," he said mildly. He was quite close to snapping at Clark, as he was rather thoroughly sick of her hitting him by this point. He'd tolerated it before, either because the strikes had been half-hearted or because he actually had caused her distress, but it was getting old by this point.

"Then speak," Angela spat, retrieving her arm from the boy's grip.

"Then listen," Pearce shot back, "I was trying to tell you that I am no longer prepared to go to any lengths to ensure that we stay at Wellesley. I-"

"Why?" Angela asked petulantly, attempting to keep a tight lid on her temper while she did so.

"Because my orders nearly sent five people to their deaths!" Pearce's voice rose, his calm demeanour eroded after such a long and demoralising day. "I refuse to allow something like that to happen again! The people on the other team, they are not our enemy, regardless of how much it looks like a battle, and I will not be responsible for someone getting hurt just because I want to stay at my school!"

"Oh, boohoo! People get hurt in these sorts of things, Pearce! I am not being sent home to my bastard father just because you were too weak to do what had to be done!" Clark shouted back angrily, before adding quietly, "I thought you'd understand why I have to win, why I can't go home."

She availed herself of a nearby seat, her fury and stress all proving too exhausting to carry on venting. The snow was still falling, and she could feel the damp meltwater beginning to soak her pants, but she couldn't care less. Looking at his number two, Pearce paused, the angry reply he nearly gave voice to lost at his comrade's final statement, and sat down next to her. It was clear that Clark was just as worn out as he was, and was equally on the brink of breaking down.

"I do understand," he said, as much empathy as he could generate pushed into his speech, "And that's why I promise you this. I will do everything I can to make sure you stay at this academy. I owe you that much. But I will not be the cause of someone else's pain to do that."

The boy thought back to earlier in the day, and the sinking T-34.

"I remember when that tank started sinking, and I saw those girls hurrying to get out, fear etched onto their faces. I couldn't get that image out of my head, and everything after that is a blank until our tank got knocked out. I don't want to see that happen again."

There was a grim conviction on Pearce's face as Clark listened to the boy speak.

"So on what honour I have left, I'm going to fight to stay at this school properly. I might even become a better person for it. But I could do with your help."

Pearce smiled at Angela as he said the last part, catching her off guard once more. She'd never seen him smile before, not properly anyway.

Well fuck, what was she going to do now? Heartfelt speech, rare outpouring of emotion, investment of trust, all of those bloody naïve things she hated, but Angela just couldn't bring herself to give her usual cynical response. Evidently she was getting soft.

"If you promise never to give me one of those godawful speeches again, I'm onboard."

"Perfect."

Pearce was still smiling, and Angela couldn't help but find herself smiling back. It was Pearce's turn to look a little surprised. Since she usually scowled or at best, smirked, he had never quite noticed how good-looking Clark was.

"Right, shall we?" Pearce stood up abruptly, smoothing off his coat again. The entire effect of him neatening his uniform was lost by the fact his uniform still had some tea stains from his earlier misfortune. "Now I'm afraid you'll have to forgive me, but you might have to sit through at least one more of my 'godawful' speeches before we're done, because we need to go and get the team back together," he said.

"Let's get a move on then, and get this over with," Clark said, standing up and falling into step behind the smaller cadet as they headed back to the vehicle park.

First Clark and Pearce headed back to the Chaffee, where Campbell team were still lounging around chatting, a couple of them with hot drinks in their hands to stave off the biting cold. Clark hollered to them as the pair approached.

"Alexis, Louise, Charlotte, Marian! Can you go and fetch everyone else for us? We need to have a word with the team."

Although the four girls were hardly keen to leave their comfy seats and warm beverages to go and muster the team, they complied without much comment and dispersed amongst the dockside clutter of vehicles and supplies, adding fresh footprints to the snow. As they did so, Pearce hopped up onto the turret of the Chaffee and perched on the edge, where Alexis had been sitting just beforehand. Angela clambered up next to him so they could wait for the rest of the cadets to assemble.

"So beyond the obvious, something must have changed your mind on how we were doing this," Clark said, "Care to tell me?"

"A fox convinced me."

The Wellesley 2IC looked askance at Pearce, wondering if he'd gone crazy. The half-amused expression quirking slightly at the corners of his mouth told her otherwise.

"You're deliberately being oblique with me, aren't you?"

"Perhaps."

It was at this point that some of the team began to trickle in, word having slowly spread about the meeting that was supposed to be taking place. As they spotted the pair atop the Chaffee, there were a few sullen murmurs, but it was only when Steven Hawke arrived that it began to escalate. The tall Londoner shoved his way through the other cadets to glare at his immediate superiors.

"I should just deck you now and be done with it," Hawke spat.

"Try me," Clark shot back, cracking her knuckles. Here was a potential outlet for her bottled-up emotions that didn't require any deep thought. A tap on her shoulder from her partner, however, served as a warning not to let this go any further. The last thing the team needed was outright physical violence at this time.

"Perhaps you might listen to what I have to say before attempting to 'deck me'?" Pearce said, wearily standing up from his seat on the tank's hull.

"Get on with it then," Hawke said, already looking fairly impatient. The sportsman was obviously reasonably agitated and did not seem keen on listening to anything the team captain might say, "I'm keen to hear the 'obviously valid' reason you acted so dishonourably.

"You'll be disappointed," Pearce warned. "I have no valid reason to give, because there is no justification for my actions. They were borne out of fear rather than logic. I failed to consider that I might be endangering other people in pursuit of victory."

"What fear could possibly have caused such an awful error of judgement?" Steven said mockingly. Pearce merely looked at him impassively.

"Tell me Steven, were your parents happy to see you attend this academy?" Russell team's captain looked caught off guard by the question, but answered it nonetheless.

"They were pleased that I'd chosen to make something of myself, and said I might learn a bit of discipline. And?"

"I'm glad for you. I've had no such luck. My parents are vehemently against my attendance at Wellesley, and are welcoming the chance to pull me away from here should I fail this course."

Pearce looked out at the forty-four other members of his team, attempting to keep his gaze, and his poise, steady. He felt the weight of eighty-eight eyes boring into him as he tried to summon the right words forth.

"That's why I'm fighting so hard. I love this school, and I will not spare any effort to make sure I stay here. And I'm terrified of failing. I don't want to leave behind this lifestyle, nor the people who I have come to hold dear, even if I've never told them so."

He looked at his own crew, Jo, Stephen, Andrew and Liam, before glancing at Chris, Elliott, and Katherine. A couple of them gave him reassuring looks as his eyes flitted over them. The snow, still falling, framed the scene well, a gentle falling of white onto the mass of dark grey uniforms, clustered amidst their tanks.

"That's all well and good," Chloe, the gunner of Marlborough team, piped up, "But did you think nothing of the stain on all our honours? What you have done has tarnished our reputation before the entire league!" The rest of her team nodded behind her.

The boy's head dropped, and his fists clenched and unclenched.

"That was not my intent," he said quietly, his voice strained, "One I will never repeat. It was a gambit of ill-considered desperation, and I regretted it as soon as I saw the results of those actions. No-one is more regretful that I am about what happened."

As he tried to muster the words to carry on his apology, his wavering speech was given welcome reinforcement by Angela, who decided at this point to intervene.

"Look, were it almost any of you out there who'd been in charge, we'd have been going home disappointed. Some of us, like Pearce, would be literally going home. At least he got us a win, which is good enough for me. As for that scene at the lake, it was a bloody accident! We were retreating, and needed to buy time. Why not blow up the lake behind us? It was a sound tactical move, but it was just 'cause he rushed it that it ended up like it did. We all make plenty of mistakes, you," she pointed at Hawke, "know that better than anyone with all the crashes at the start of the term. He's said he's sorry, now suck it up and we can get back to business."

It was not Clark's words that resounded with the cadets so much as her vehemence. This girl had professed a profound dislike in the very boy she was defending, yet here she was, defending him to the hilt. She raised some good points, but it was the conviction that she drove them home with that dispelled much of their anger. There was however, one man unaffected by this speech. Indeed, it seemed that Angela's interjection had only angered him more.

"Great!" Steven shouted, "Just what we need! The heartless bitch herself speaking up to defend the emotionless robot. May-"

"Hold your tongue, Mr Hawke," Pearce interceded, even before Clark could, "Feel free to hurl insults at myself, but watch your mouth about your comrades. Miss Clark has done her duty, and brought no shame upon this team, so kindly refrain from slandering her."

Hawke was nearly a foot taller than Pearce, but that dangerous glint had returned to Pearce's eyes, along with a cold fury that was just waiting for him to try something. The fact that Clark was racking her knuckles behind him did little to bolster his confidence. With commendable maturity for someone as prideful as he, Steven stilled his tongue, but his stiff posture and clenched fists betrayed his anger.

Pearce regarded the rest of the team, and seeing no-one else about to speak, he decided to finish his apology.

"Look, I messed up. I have brought shame upon this team, I know that. But please understand that was not what I intended. This school is my home, the people I know here my family, and I… just wanted a chance to keep it that way. I understand that my actions have made some of you question whether you want me to lead this team anymore, and that is for you to decide. I just want you to know that it has been a pleasure commanding this team."

He was greeted with stony silence from the team. Pearce turned on his heel on the Chaffee's hull, and clambered down the back of the tank. He was trying his best not to weep, lest he look weak in front of the team, but nevertheless, some tears streaked down his face. Fortunately, his back was turned, so no-one saw. But it was as he slowly walked away, boots tramping through the churned up slush of the dockside, he heard one of the people behind him clap. Then another. And another. Eventually most of the cadets were doing so.

Pearce turned round, a hurried wipe of his cuff drying the few tears adorning his cheeks. He picked out Chris from the crowd, as one of those clapping. From the small smile on the tall cadet's face, it was evident that he'd started this wave of applause. Given the disgust that he'd expressed with Sam earlier, it was all the more surprising to the Wellesley captain that Taylor would offer such a show of support at this time.

A few of the cadets were quite pointedly not applauding, Hawke amongst them, but Pearce ignored them as he stood there, somewhat staggered by his comrades' actions. The tears threatened to come forth once more, but he somehow repressed them. Taylor pushed his way in front of the team to stand next to Pearce.

"Ya know, I thought you were a bit of a lost cause earlier," he said, "But I don't think I've ever heard you speak as passionately as you did there. For me personally, I can accept that apology."

Taylor turned to his fellows, and raised his voice.

"Listen up! We've all heard what Sam has to say here, and I for one have faith in his words. He has given us an apology from the heart, and that to me is what matters. But some of you may still wish to see a different one of us leading this team as we progress. So I'm asking you all now, will you still stand with Sam, or do you wish to see another take his place? Raise your hand if you wish to see our current captain retain his position." Chris raised his hand to illustrate his point.

Not a soul moved for a second, and Pearce's heart sank. But this was a momentary lapse. The first hands that went up were his own tank crew, Jo, Stephen, Andrew, and Liam. More followed, Wavell team, Hobart team, Clinton team and more, until there was a clear consensus – Pearce was staying. But it was far from unanimity. Hawke had not raised his arm, nor his fellows Jake and David, or any of Marlborough team. As it stood, eight members out of the forty-four voting had expressed their opposition.

"Troublesome," Liam murmured. A unanimous agreement, even a begrudging one, would have been preferable, as it would have avoided the inevitable friction this result would cause.

"At least the issue hasn't been left to fester," Jo replied quietly, "If we'd delayed this, the team would suffer far worse."

Many of the cadets had come to the same conclusion. There had to be full reconciliation or it would adversely affect their performance. Friction would only reduce combat effectiveness, and with the opposition progressively getting harder to overcome, this was an issue they could ill afford to have.

"What would you have me do?" Pearce asked, looking at the eight dissenters. "If I am to restore any trust between us, what will I need to undertake to do so?"

"Swear it," Hawke said.

"Swear what, Mr Hawke?"

"Swear that you will never do something like that again. That you'll only lead us honourably, no putting people in danger, no underhanded tactics." The grim look on the face of Russell team's captain told everyone just how important this was to him.

Pearce was entirely unfazed by this. He'd already said he'd do this much earlier in the day, to someone far more important to him. Swearing it again made little to no difference. He raised his hand.

"I do hereby swear that I will undertake to lead this team honourably, devoid of dangerous or otherwise dishonourable gambits. In front of my assembled peers and comrades, I swear this, on my honour and integrity."

He raised an eyebrow at Hawke, attempting to gauge if the sportsman was satisfied by this. Judging by the look on his face, just barely. There was still a degree of contempt in those eyes, an antagonism that would likely never go away. But that was fine. Being disliked was something he could get over pretty easily.

"So?" Clark said, standing up from her perch on the Chaffee, "We done?"

"I won't say that I'm pleased," Hawke replied, "But it'll do. Me and mine have no further objections." Jake and David nodded their agreement.

"What about you then?" Angela pointed at Marlborough team, who had observed the proceedings and remained silent throughout. "You satisfied or not?"

Simon, who had thus far let Chloe do the talking for her team, stepped forward next to her so he could speak. The contrast between the pair, one short and dark-haired, the other a tall, athletic blonde, was quite stark, but they shared the same outlook.

"We still feel that the stain on our honour is unsatisfied, and that this personal affront can only be expunged in one way."

"So Pearce," Chloe added, "On behalf of our team, I challenge you to single combat over our honour. If you lose, we want you to step down as captain."

"What gives you that right?" Angela shouted, "You've already been outvoted, you can't just expect Sam to step down if you win a fight with him. What kind of -"

"Angela, please," Pearce interjected, "I asked what it would take to preserve this team's cohesion. I will not back down purely because of this task's difficulty." He turned to Chloe. "I accept your challenge. Let it be set for tomorrow, after classes have finished."

"In the sparring hall, in front of everyone," Chloe said.

"Done."

Excited murmurs broke out amongst the assembled crews. Chloe was pretty famed amongst the cadets at the academy for being good with a blade, particularly since she did re-enactment while she was on leave for the holidays. Pearce was no slouch, but it was still debatable if he could win against Marlborough team's gunner.

"Right, you lot!" Clark hollered, "There's nothing else for you to be here for, so get back to your crates and help get 'em loaded!"

The Wellesley students began to disperse as they were dismissed, each crew strolling off to get on with maintenance and repair before they were all reloaded onto the Dauntless. Marlborough team were one of the last teams to march off, with Chloe leaving Pearce with one final comment.

"Prepare yourself for tomorrow. I won't go easy on you."

"I will be ready. After all, I have no intention of losing."

The tall blonde walked off without so much as a second glance, leaving Pearce and Clark alone once more. The snow had abated by this point, and a relatively mild temperature was beginning to assert itself, but clouds overhead threatened a turn for the worse in the near future. The Wellesley captain wondered if this was a portent of things to come, before looking to his second, who was glaring at him with an irritated expression.

"Did you really just spend all that effort, that lengthy-ass speech and swearing an oath to potentially throw all of it away on a fight tomorrow?" Angela shook her head, her irritation giving way to an amused smirk. "You can be such a bloody idiot."

"That would make you the person who stood up for a bloody idiot then," Pearce replied, smirking back.

"Asshole," Clark shot back, "I don't know why I bother."

"Neither do I," Pearce said, "But I'm very thankful that you do."

"So what now?" the girl asked.

"Well, I imagine that I will have to explain myself to our superiors," Pearce said, "Although I believe if I go over Captain Hart's head, the headmaster may be more sympathetic. Unfortunately, while Captain Hart is smart, he is far too sentimental."

"You mean he's a bit of a pushover," Clark said, not wasting any effort on mincing words.

"He certainly isn't the most wilful or intimidating of our tutors," Pearce agreed, "But on this he might take a stand, at least against us, which is why I intend to have at least one of his superiors present to help back me up."

"Very underhanded of you. I like it."

"I try," Pearce replied good-naturedly, before turning serious once more, "I also need to offer my apologies to those teams I have undoubtedly offended, Pravda first amongst them. I'm not sure my conduct has been appropriate to that I should have been displaying."

"Pfft," Clark snorted in derision. "Maybe you should go and talk to the Pravda girl, but you haven't been rude to any of the others. Your usual distant and annoying self, maybe, but not rude. Make up with them another time, it's not a priority. Anything else?"

Pearce glared at Angela when she made her barbed comment about his normal apathy, but couldn't find it in him to be annoyed. After all, she was right. He hadn't really done anything out of the ordinary to annoy his opponents prior to the Pravda match; it was just the way he usually spoke to people seemed to rub them the wrong way, as it sounded either highhanded or uncaring. He put that to one side for a moment, quickly thinking through anything else that needed to be done urgently.

"Actually, yes, I have one thing I could use your help for Angela."

"What is it?" A modicum of curiosity crept onto the black-haired girl's face.

"I need someone to help me practice my bladework for tomorrow, and you are as skilled as anyone in our class."

A feral grin lit up Clark's face at the prospect of sparring practice. She had a lot of pent-up aggression to get out of her system, and this was one sure-fire way of working that rage off. One thought did pass through her mind though.

"Sounds like fun, but what about class?"

"Well there's no class today, so we have time when we get back, and as for tomorrow? I think I can logically protest illness, given today's events."

"Oh, playing hooky are we? Haven't we suddenly become a rebel?" Clark taunted.

"Do you want the chance to beat me around the sparring hall or not?" Pearce said in an exasperated tone.

"Yep, I'll take you up on that." The huge grin on Clark's face promised both pain and retribution in the most gleeful manner possible, causing Pearce to question whether he had made the right choice in asking for his second's help in his last-minute training. "Better get yourself ready, cos you'll be dicing Chloe into little pieces when I'm done with you, you'll be that good."

Pearce's eyebrow twitched. "I don't think I need to leave my opponent in pieces after I'm done. In fact, I'm quite sure we need her to crew the Churchill in our next match…."

"Pssh, details." Clark waved off Pearce's concerns as if she hadn't just talked about the violent dismemberment of her classmate. Pearce decided to change the subject before things got more out of hand.

"Anyway, now that's sorted, I need to get moving. Re-embarkation deadline is 3pm, correct?" He received a nod in response, as Clark tried to gauge where he was going with this. "Good, plenty of time to go and make my apologies to Miss Katyusha."

"Are you sure you need to do that now?"

"There's no better time than the present. You are in charge while I am absent, Miss Clark." Pearce simply turned and walked off after this, leaving Angela to go and deal with the remainder of the team's packing and maintenance.

**Pravda Vehicle Park – 1300hrs**

"Nonna! Have you called the Chairman yet?" A familiar childish tone carried across the assembled Pravda vehicles, parked in the shadow of the titanic carrier Kiev, which overshadowed its allocated part of the docks with its vast bulk.

"Yes, I just finished contacting him. He said the funds for a replacement vehicle will be allocated to our next grant." Nonna strode out from the shadow of the wrecked KV-2, which was currently being worked on by its 6-girl crew with frenzied efficiency. The baleful eye of Katyusha had convinced them it was more than their lives were worth if they left her precious KV-tan in its present sorry condition.

"Hmmph, I'd hoped he would give us some more on top of that to supplement our forces," Katyusha huffed. She was perched on the gun mantlet of one of the few surviving Pravda T-34s, watching as her subordinates milled around her. Her legs kicked back and forth in the typical manner of a child, incapable of sitting completely still for more than a few moments at a time. The oversized helmet Katyusha often donned was discarded on top of the T-34's turret next to her.

"At least we will be able to make good our forces," Nonna said. "I have given the order to prepare one of our reserve tanks to replace the one we lost today."

"Good. Now, do you have Katyusha's cocoa?"

The dark-haired sniper merely stepped up to the front of the tank and passed a flask to her superior, a ghost of a smile passing her lips as the little blonde gulped down much of the hot beverage, before letting out an appreciative sigh.

"Thank you, Nonna." Pravda's commander smiled widely at her closest confidant. "When will reloading be complete?"

"Assuming that basic repairs are completed on time, we should be back aboard in an hour or so."

"Good, I want a nap soon, I'm getting tired."

Nonna's deadpan reply was cut short by a commotion coming from the edge of the vehicle park. Raised voices carried over the biting wind, cutting through the clamour of repair noise. Katyusha glanced at her second.

"Nonna!"

The graceful sniper wordlessly strode off into the melange of parked vehicles without any hesitation. It was not long before the noise died down, and Nonna returned, a familiar figure in tow. Other members of the Pravda team scowled at the person as they passed, but the boy paid them no heed, merely fixing his gaze on the diminutive blonde sat on the tank in front of him.

"What do you want?" Katyusha said petulantly. Her ire was already somewhat stoked by the very sight of the Wellesley commander, and she decided that she should get this over with quickly.

"To apologise," Pearce replied. Those simple two words caught Katyusha off guard, perhaps more than they should have. After all, there was little other reason for him to come here, and he didn't look like the gloating kind.

After an extended pause as she reordered her thoughts, Katyusha reassumed her usual persona with a practiced ease. "Well, get on with it," she said, projecting irritation in her voice.

"Are the crew of that tank here?" Pearce asked, "I understand if they would not wish to see me at this time, but I feel I should apologise to them too." Katyusha considered the request for a second, before nodding at Nonna, who once more strode off into the vehicle park to find the five girls from the sunken T-34.

Katyusha regarded the retreating form of her friend for a second before speaking to the boy in front of her in an imperious tone.

"Katyusha does not count this as a defeat, just so you know. Only honourable opponents may claim victory over Katyusha." Pearce visibly wilted, but gave the girl a wry smile.

"I can but hope for a rematch then. You are an admirable commander, evidently possessed of no small modicum of talent."

The polity and warmth of Pearce's words confused Katyusha. They seemed to be entirely at odds with the person she had met before the match – a cold, distant, dismissive boy. She scrutinised the boy in front of her; he looked dishevelled, tired and worn down – if the red rings round his eyes were anything to go by, he'd been crying at some point too. Yet there was something there that gave this boy far more life than before – a flicker in his eyes, where before they'd been dead. Some of Katyusha's anger at the diminutive cadet dissipated as she continued her observation.

"As the commander for your team I would hope that you would accept my apology to your team as a collective, even as I must offer those girls an individual apology for affronts against them," Pearce said.

Katyusha gave a fractional nod, allowing him to continue speaking.

"My actions today were unforgivable, I know that, and I accept that neither you nor your compatriots may forgive me for them. But please know that they were not out of spite or hatred, and if I could erase them, I would…"

Pearce's spiel tailed off as Nonna reappeared, five girls in Pravda uniform in tow. The cadet resisted the urge to shudder in revulsion at himself as he looked at the five of them. One of them barely looked sixteen yet, and the youth of even the oldest reminded the boy that the lives he'd nearly cut short were not those of veterans, but of fresh-faced teenagers, members of his peer group. Even worse for Pearce, a couple of them could not even meet his eyes, as his presence evidently reminded them of the terror they had just endured.

He wanted to throw up. How could he have thought sinking their tank was acceptable? Pearce fumbled for words, the eloquent apology that he'd thought up falling further out of his grasp. Instead, he turned to the girls, the first tears beginning to run down his face, head held in shame.

"I'm so sorry," he said, fighting to prevent himself from sobbing in front of them, "I never wanted it to turn out this way. You might never be able to forgive me, but from the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry."

This caught the Pravda girls quite off guard, and Pearce just stood there for a minute, waiting for any of them to say something, for a barbed comment or a venting of frustration, but none came. Instead, a soft tap on his shoulder made Pearce look around, barely making out a mop of messy blonde hair through damp eyes. The little blonde commander of Pravda was stood right next to him, a surprisingly serious expression on her face.

"Katyusha thinks she can forgive you. You put your feelings into your words to her, and Katyusha can appreciate this, as her subordinates can too." She gave an imperceptible nod to the girls in front of them, one of whom stepped forward, evidently the commander of the sunken tank. She was a pretty girl with a curtain of soft brown hair falling down her back, and she looked somewhat tentative as she went to speak.

"We do, Mr Pearce. It's ok, and-"

"But it isn't ok!" Pearce almost shouted the response at the Pravda girl. "I've caused you all great pain, some of which might continue for a long time. Some of you can't even meet my gaze, I've hurt you so badly. So why are you just forgiving me?"

"Because you came and apologised," the girl replied, "And unless you were lying to us when you said you didn't mean it, that's good enough for us."

The boy gave her a grateful half-smile, wiping at his eyes with his coat sleeve.

"Thank you –" Pearce hesitated, as he realised he did not know the girl's name.

"Anastasiya."

"Thank you Anastasiya. Thank you, all of you. It brings me some solace to know that you're at least ok. But I still feel I owe you a lot in recompense. If there's anything I can do for you, do not hesitate to ask."

The girl from Pravda apparently took some confidence from Pearce's words, and gave him a grin that the cadet found himself unsettled by. Perhaps he shouldn't have offered 'anything' as recompense?

"Just give us a good match next time," Anastasiya said, "And stop crying, it doesn't suit you."

"And you know, try not to sink our tank next time," One of the others joked, admittedly a little awkwardly, but it conveyed that there was no ill will there.

"I know! We were really attached to Dushka as well!" a third chipped in. Pearce chuckled at the nickname, as 'Dushka' meant 'Sweetie' in Russian.

After reassuring each other that there was no ill will between them, the five girls vanished back into the morass of tanks and supplies that littered the vehicle park. Pearce look at Katyusha, who was still stood next to him. He took a moment's amusement that he was taller than her, even if not by much, and was very careful not to let it show on his face. The little blonde, almost as if reading his thoughts, turned and glowered at him for a second.

"Is there something else you wanted?"

"Only to reaffirm my sincerest apologies and thank you for being so understanding. I must admit, your maturity belies your outward appearance, Miss Katyusha, something compounded by how you seem to behave publicly."

"Katyusha does not know what you are talking about." Pravda's commander huffed, pouting a little at what she construed as a back-handed compliment.

"Nevertheless, Miss Katyusha," Pearce said, laying a hand on her shoulder, causing the little blonde to look around at him, "Thank you."

He glanced at Nonna. "I'll show myself out, Miss Nonna."

As the long black coat of the Wellesley captain disappeared into the melee that was Pravda's camp, Katyusha glanced at Nonna, who looked back with a knowing expression and a hint of a smile painted on her lips.

"What are you looking at?" Katyusha snapped.

"My mature team captain, why?" Nonna replied, completely straight-faced.

"Shut up. And hurry the team along, I want to get home and take a nap." Despite her usual petulant tone giving her command a harsh edge, Katyusha grinned at Nonna, knowing that the stoic girl would merely roll her eyes and get on with it, while smiling serenely back.

"Of course."

**Wellesley Vehicle Park – 1400hrs**

"Taylor! Get off your sorry arse, your crate's getting loaded next, with or without you on it!" Angela yelled, her voice projected across the entire dockside in a manner reminiscent of a drill sergeant.

The recipient of the verbal onslaught was Wavell team's commander, who was lounging on his tank even as his crew scrambled to get their vehicle ready for transit. Chris glanced up from under his fringe to spot Clark, and made a dismissive gesture.

"Ah, I've got plenty of time," he drawled, "So just chill out. Or are you trying ta impress someone by being finished before he gets back, eh?"

One could almost see smoke pouring out of Clark's ears with that statement. Her fists clenched, and before Chris could make another witty comment, she'd closed the distance between them in the blink of an eye, and decked Chris out of his seat on the Achilles. Amy, walking past with a bag full of repair tools, giggled at the sight.

"Keep your fucking mouth shut, wise-ass."

"Ya know, that was really tsundere of you right now."

"What the fuck is a tsundere? And this had better be a good explanation," Clark growled, taking a step towards Chris, who had righted himself.

"Oh yeah, I forgot you don't watch anime…" Chris muttered, "So don't sweat it, it was a compliment!" He cursed in his head, as there was no way his lie sounded credible.

"Somehow I don't believe you at all," Clark replied, completely deadpan. "But whatever, now get up and give your crew a hand, you lazy git."

"Wow, she is going soft," Chris muttered to himself.

"You want to repeat that?" Clark gritted out, a dark aura appearing around her as she cracked her knuckles.

"Not in the slightest."

"Good, now get out of my sight."

Chris quickly scrambled to his feet and vanished into the crowd of tanks and people, looking for some members of his crew. Instead, he bumped into Katherine, who gave him an appraising glance and a knowing expression.

"What did you do this time?"

"Would you believe me if I said I'd done nothing wrong?"

"Nope!" Katherine chirped, "It's more likely that you'd actually do some work, and that's rare enough."

"Hey!"

"Give me some proof to the contrary, and I might retract that statement," Katherine said, eliciting a sigh from Chris. "Now is there something you need, or are you just messing about?"

"Actually, I did have a question for you: do you reckon he's got a chance against Chloe tomorrow?" Wavell team's commander asked.

The blonde pursed her lips. "Why, do you think we might be finding a new captain soon?"

"We might be – Chloe's pretty good with a blade, and while I wouldn't count Sam out, he's going to find it difficult at the very least." Chris brushed his fringe out of his eyes. "I don't really fancy considering it, but what do we do if he loses?"

"I guess command would fall to Angela unless we forced a vote."

"Angela would cause the team to fall apart quickly, but so would all of us, even me and you," Chris mused, "All of us have people we dislike or don't get on with and that would make operations quite difficult if we can't work with cohesion."

"Well, let's just look at the people we have as captains – Angela"

"Temperamental."

"Hawke."

"Gung-ho, not a deep thinker."

"Rowley."

"Opposite problem. Shy and indecisive."

"Andrews."

"Too laid-back."

"Jones."

"More interested in the vehicles than the people."

"Williams."

"Since he's the one who proposed this fight thing with his second, he's right out," Chris said.

"That leaves me and you."

"And you're far too much of a workaholic, despite how admirable that is."

"And you're lazy and irresponsible unless it really matters." Chris adopted a look of mock hurt at the ruthless analysis of his other half.

"So harsh! And there I was trying to be all polite and make it out as if you were nearly flawless." Katherine giggled.

"You asked for it," she said. "Still, while it looks pretty bad, I'm going to have faith and believe that Sam'll pull through. And if he doesn't, you'll support me for captain, right?"

**Chapter End**

**Omake – Start!**

"Actually, yes, I have one thing I could use your help for Angela," Pearce said.

"What is it?" A modicum of curiosity crept onto the black-haired girl's face.

"I need someone to help me practice my bladework for tomorrow, and you are as skilled as anyone in our class."

Angela grinned. "I know just how to whip you into shape. You'll need three things: a bandana, a jogging suit and some trainers."

"I am already suspicious of where this is going."

*cue screen transition and music – Eye of the Tiger*

"Is a training montage really necessary? And also, how does punching meat in a cold room, skipping rope and jogging help improve my bladework?"

"It builds character."

Pearce's eye twitched as he stopped skipping, and instead held to rope in a threatening manner.

"Buried or cremated?"

"What?" Angela asked, thoroughly confused.

"I'm going to kill you, so how do you want your remains disposed of?"

Clark ran for it, an irate Pearce, still in a jogging suit, hot on her heels.

**Omake End**

**Second Omake – Start!**

**Carrier Ark Royal – Wednesday 13****th**** February – 0900hrs**

"Captain Darjeeling! A package for you." A pleasant voice carried across the parade ground as St Gloriana's mail-lady addressed the tankery team leader. Dressed much akin to a Royal Mail employee in a smart blue uniform, replete with red delivery van, Chiho was instantly identifiable, and a well-known and respected figure at the boarding school. It helped that she was a polite and comely woman, and as such was an honorary member of the tea garden.

"A package?" Darjeeling asked curiously, greeting Chiho with a polite incline of the head and a smile.

"Yes, arrived just this morning. Be careful, says the contents are quite fragile."

Darjeeling took the parcel with some trepidation. Even with St Gloriana set up as a boarding school, it was rare for the students to receive packages at all, as there was little to want in such comfortable surroundings as St Gloriana, and as such, the handsome blonde wondered as to where this package originated, especially since it was nowhere near her birthday.

Thanking Chiho, Darjeeling took the parcel back to the tankery clubhouse, her friends in tow, before setting it on her desk. Pekoe handed her a packing knife.

"Should we open it, Miss Darjeeling?"

"Given the same situation, timidity will do a thousand times more damage than audacity."

"A paraphrasing of Clausewitz?" Pekoe questioned.

"Precisely. Only by daring to open it will we know its contents," Darjeeling said, taking up the packing knife and slicing the tape on the box, removing each layer of packing with care and precision.

After the final layer of tape had been removed, Gloriana's captain gently prised the lid of the box open, finding inside a wicker basket. Gently grasping the lid of the basket, Darjeeling opened it to find it was inside cushioned with tissue, and partitioned into four sections. Each section had a fine chine cup and saucer nestled in it, along with a different tea bag inside each cup: one Earl Grey, one Orange Pekoe, one Assam, and one Darjeeling. Darjeeling removed the cup from her namesake section to find a note inside the cup. Unfurling the note to its fullest extent, Darjeeling began to read:

"Miss Darjeeling, when we first met, I made a serious error in judgement. So focused was I on winning the tournament that I mocked your ideals. The chivalry and polity you espoused I felt were weaknesses that should never be brought to a battlefield, and in some ways I still stand by that. But I have since realised that tankery is not the same as battle in its truest sense, but rather a sport, and those admirable qualities you and your compatriots display do truly belong within it. Were you born in the British Isles I would be proud to call you my countrywomen. Please accept this small gift as token of my apology, and I look forward to the time I can offer you the same in person. Sincerely Yours, Samuel Pearce."

As St Gloriana's commander had read the message, her curious expression had given way to a frown, followed by neutrality, and then a smile had reappeared on her face, a genuinely happy smile, rather than her usual serene expression. She looked up at her compatriots.

"I think I can accept this apology." Both Pekoe and Assam nodded. They were both aware of how hurt Darjeeling had been when she had been told by Pearce that St Gloriana was less a representation of Great Britain than it was a caricature. To have that statement retracted was more than enough to make Darjeeling very happy, even if she didn't show it. An apology and a gift basket on top of that was merely the icing on the cake.

"Miss Darjeeling!" Pekoe said excitedly, "There's more in this basket."

The petite redhead had removed the bottom layer of tissue in the box to find another container, labelled 'Fortnum and Mason'. Inside was a selection of luxury goods, including a large box of shortbread and other biscuits, all from the UK.

"I would say this boy has outdone himself," Darjeeling commented, before Assam quietly handed her a very small wrapped box, tagged 'Darjeeling'.

"I believe this one is for you," Assam said.

The wrapping on the box was carefully peeled away, and Darjeeling was left with a glass container. Inside, mounted on a plinth, was a model of her Churchill VII, set in silver.

"So if the other pieces in the box constituted an apology, does this constitute a marriage proposal?" Assam joked, her vibrant purple eyes twinkling. Darjeeling did not reply, but there was unmistakeable shade to her cheeks that one would normally find on Pekoe instead. Before Assam could make any more jokes at her friend's expense, Pekoe saved the day.

"Shall we break the tea set in, Miss Darjeeling?"

The blonde nodded. "An excellent suggestion."

**Omake end**

**That's a wrap! I'll be honest, this chapter has been incredibly hard to write, and I don't think its entirely up to snuff, but I fail to see how I could improve it (hint hint tell me in reviews how you think I could).**

**This chapter was designed to be the make or break – Pearce would try to make his peace with everyone around him, and the team had to make or break through that. He also had to apologise to the people he had wronged from the other team, and how they reacted would be crucial to his characterisation. I'll be honest, I actually hadn't decided before I wrote it how they would react, and I figured that my gut response when asking myself that question was the best route to go. The second omake in this chapter can be considered as canon for this story (the first obviously not), and I will most likely be writing more of them to show how Pearce rebuilds his relationships with each team.**

**That said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and soon we will see what the fate of Wellesley's team is, as well as the buildup to Oarai's long overdue rematch with St G.**

**In other news, I've started work on a collab series with the talented LW Kilroy, where short omakes (penned by myself) are given visual form by sketches done by Mr Kilroy. It'll be on DeviantArt, on the page: kilroylw . deviantart . com (just close the spaces up to get the web address)**

**Well, that's all for now, see you next time.**


	22. Chapter 22: Crossed Blades

**Hey guys! This is HereticalShinigami, bringing another chapter of Girls Und Panzer: Open Warfare to the pass. Firstly, I'd like to thank those people who reviewed my previous chapter, including that one guy (looking at you Severstal) who left an essay in my reviews sections. Knowing what you liked and dislike in a chapter really helps me focus on the weaknesses in my work and what I need to focus on to improve.**

**Anyway, this chapter is hopefully going to start broadening the focus back out again. I know the previous ones have been very 'Pearce-centric' (and this one kinda still is). Also, for anyone reading the fight that will be occurring between Pearce and Chloe, I am quite familiar with the use of blades. I'm by no means a master, but I know how to wield a variety of them. Whether or not I can write an interesting fight from that experience remains to be seen.**

**Finally, if you haven't already checked it out, my first collab omake with the talented artist LW Kilroy is up on Deviantart. Just search for 'KilroyLW' on the site and you'll find it no problem. Our first one is titled 'Maiden of Metal', and is a cheeky look at what would happen if St Gloriana were introduced to more modern British music. The second one, as yet untitled, has been written, and will be done in several parts (since I went overboard and wrote over 2,000 words for something that should have been an omake.)**

**Wednesday 12****th**** February – Carrier Dauntless – 1030hrs**

"More force! This isn't fencing, you soft-arse, this is swordsmanship!"

Rings of steel and the sound of Angela's powerful voice echoed throughout the sparring hall, as they had done for the past hour by this point, as two combatants faced each other in the centre of the spacious room, each armed with a blunted arming sword. The pair were both clad in dark grey academy polo shirts and combats, far better than their usual uniforms for exercise. A pair of padded gloves covered each fighter's hands, and extra pads covered vulnerable joints like the elbows and knees.

"Understood," Pearce replied, his curt answer betraying how focused the diminutive cadet was.

Sam manoeuvred slightly closer to his opponent, a relatively open guard ensuring that Angela could not guess his intentions easily. His blade, a 32" arming sword identical to Clark's, was held in a firm grip in what would be his off-hand, were he not as well-versed with the use of one hand as the other. However, Pearce's slow approach proved to have been too cautious, as Angela leapt forward, a direct thrust catching the cadet in the shoulder as it slipped through his guard. Like they'd been trained, the moment before it connected Angela pulled the blade back to reduce its momentum, so it would impact without any damage beyond superficial. Even so, Pearce would have a nasty bruise there soon enough, as he staggered back from the blow. Clark despaired.

"The three Fs, Pearce," Angela said, shaking her head, "Force, focus and fucking speed! If you keep on with the feather blows and the constant overthinking, you may as well resign now, because Chloe's not gonna be playing nice."

Clark walked over to the benches at one side of the hall, and pulled a large bottle of water out a sporting bag before taking a seat. She beckoned her partner over with a nonchalant wave, and Pearce planted himself down next to her.

Both Clark and Pearce had been mildly surprised when they'd returned to the academy that Hart was not there to chew them out, but given their relief at that occurrence they chose not to question why. Instead, they had both headed back to their respective dorms, gotten a bite to eat and then headed out to the hall for a couple of hours of practice. They'd then feigned illness today to get more practice in to prep Pearce for his fight later. Trouble was, Angela was worried he'd still not be up to snuff by that point.

"Right, Pearce, tell me why you're fighting so poorly. We've been at this for a few hours now, and you're fighting way under par for your usual. So what gives? Are you ill, or injured?" The last question was asked with just a shade of genuine concern creeping in, as Angela couldn't think of any other reason for Pearce's sudden performance drop. It seemed like every time he moved in for a strike, he would set it up only to hesitate at the last moment. It was almost like-

"You've got to be fucking kidding," Clark said, in a moment of realisation. "You're pulling your strikes because you don't want to hurt me."

Pearce nodded, looking somewhat sheepish. Clark sighed, guessing the reason behind it as well. Rather than berate him, she spoke in a more conciliatory tone.

"Look, I know you're probably still feeling guilty about what happened, I get that. But you can't just start chickening out of things because they might hurt someone. You will hurt someone at some point, like it or not, and the key thing is just to apologise, feel a bit guilty and carry on."

Pearce favoured Angela with a wry smile, but it was devoid of any real warmth to it, and the boy's expression remained melancholic. Evidently Wellesley's 2IC would have to try harder to get through to him.

"Sometimes, it might even be necessary to hurt someone, and hesitating to do so could be bad for you. For instance, if someone was threatening someone you care about…"

Clark trailed off as she saw she still wasn't getting through to him. Evidently a different approach was needed.

"Fine then! See if I care! I've got better things to do than waste my time with you when you obviously don't want to learn," Clark stood up and began get her things together to leave, "You can get kicked about Chloe, and then you'll have to step down as captain, meaning we'll probably lose the tourney and get removed from the academy by our wankers of parents, which means you'll never see that bloody stupid girl of yours again.."

A blade was pressed into the small of her back as she finished that sentence. Clark grinned as she looked back over her shoulder at Pearce, who suddenly looked all business again. That fire of determination, which had been guttering again for Pearce, had been rekindled once more.

"Shall we carry on then?" she said mockingly, as she parried a diagonal cut designed to bisect her.

**The Headmaster's Office – 1100hrs**

To Captain Hart a visit to his superior's office was usually quite daunting. While the headmaster was not that physically imposing compared to some others on the academy's staff, the man had presence, more than enough to cow any of the aforementioned staff members. But at the moment, Hart couldn't bring himself to care about that.

Yesterday's events had shocked the instructor. Seeing his cadets in action usually filled him with some trepidation, as regardless of how safe the sport was, there was always the potential to see them injured. The match with Pravda had somewhat exceeded that, and the fact that the danger was caused by his cadets had filled Hart will more anger than fear. He had intended to confront Pearce about his actions after he had returned yesterday, but he'd been kept from doing so by a number of tasks that suspiciously arrived on his desk just that day. So he'd come to what he thought was the source. Hart raised a hand and knocked on the door.

"Enter!" The gruff voice of the headmaster resounded from within.

The large oak door creaked open, and Hart stepped into the room. Mentally composing himself, he walked up to the desk and saluted his superior officer.

"Ah, good morning John," the headmaster said, "I trust you filed all those reports from yesterday?"

Well, that confirmed who sent them to him at least.

"Of course sir. All eleven of them were submitted to the appropriate departments, as per usual. Although if I may say sir, I thought requisitioning was handled by the chief engineer, not by any of the academic staff. It s-"

"It seemed like I was deliberately distracting you from interfering with your team?" The amused expression the headmaster wore gave the answer away, and somewhat discomfited Hart. It was rare that his boss ever smiled on professional business. "Well, I will admit to that."

"Why on earth would you do that?" John exploded, his temper overriding any nervousness he was feeling. "Since you interfered with my job, I must assume that you saw the match too. I needed too-"

"Needed to what, John? Go and harangue your team? Interfere with what was already a difficult situation? Do tell exactly what you were planning to do that could have possibly have helped in any way!" The headmaster had raised his voice by this point, unwilling to brook any insubordinate gestures from the tankery instructor.

"I don't know, something, anything!" Hart hadn't really considered what he'd have done if he could have made it to meet his team after the match with Pravda. He'd been caught up in the moment, like so many others, and hadn't taken the time to process it. The fire went out of him as he realised this, and he hung his head.

"Goodness gracious, John," the headmaster said, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. "Look, believe me when I say your presence would not have been beneficial to the situation."

Hart wanted to protest that, but he failed to muster an adequate counter-argument, so the headmaster continued.

"John, you are a superb academic, and from what I've gathered, a good instructor. But you are not a mentor. You can teach your students very well, but you do not have the rapport with them to consult with them on non-academic issues. In part this stems from the team being almost brand new, but also because you lack the gravitas necessary to command their full respect."

John wilted a little more under the stark evaluation.

"This is not to say your students do not respect your opinions, but merely pointing out that your lack of experience and presence means that you do not automatically receive that respect. You also do not know how to deal with situations like this, because you do not have that experience. I have faith that as you teach more classes and get some field experience you will cover both of these weaknesses."

The headmaster stood up from his chair, and stepped towards the window, from which he could observe much of the academy's grounds. Despite the confident way he held himself, Hart could see that Wellesley's leader was weary. A slight sag to the shoulders, and the ever-so-slight shaking in the man's right hand belied that despite his vigour, the headmaster was an aging man.

"There is also one other reason I delayed you yesterday, and that's because I wanted the cadets to deal with this issue themselves. It will encourage them to mature, whereas if you had sorted the matter they would have learnt little other than how to listen to you."

"But how do you know it's sorted?" John asked.

"Because I received a report today summarising yesterday's events. Apparently our team captain wrote it up in your absence, and it explains the steps taken towards resolving the issues our team faces."

"And what steps are you going to take with regard to the incident sir?" The instructor prompted. His superior frowned.

"None. I don't believe any are required."

"But sir, Cadet Pearce almost caused the deaths of five people yesterday! Surely something needs to be done with regard to this."

"John, put yourself in the shoes of that boy for a minute. He nearly killed several people with the actions he took. The guilt he has derived from doing so, as well as the strain it has put on his relations with many of his peers is more than enough of a punishment. He did offer his resignation, but at this point stripping him of his rank and throwing him off the course with only be rubbing salt on an already deep wound."

"But-"

"Captain Hart, though you may hold an officer's rank, you have never seen active service. By comparison, I have seen more than three decades of it. Believe me when I tell you that mistakes made in command, especially those that get people injured or killed, are some of the most painful things you will have to live with. Consider this an order: you will not bring sanctions to bear on any member of your team for their part in this mess. You are there to support and advise that team, not run it. Understood?"

Hart could see there was no budging the headmaster on this one.

"Yes sir."

"Good, now see to your team. I believe they'll be mustering this evening, in the gym."

"The gym?" Hart wondered aloud.

"I don't believe I stuttered Mr Hart. Now be off with you."

Hart beat a hasty retreat.

**The Gym – 1200hrs**

"Take five," Clark gasped, a bead of sweat running down her forehead. Apparently her motivational tactic had worked a little too well, and they had been sparring non-stop for nigh on an hour.

"Understood," Pearce replied, dropping his guard and making his way to the benches, where he withdrew a water bottle from his bag, along with a towel, which he used to mop the sweat from his brow. "Have I made any progress?"

Clark gave him a withering look and mouthed 'no shit' at him. The Wellesley second crashed down onto one of the gym-side benches and drained half her water bottle.

"Now that you've stopped being such a pansy, you're actually fighting pretty well," Angela said. "You'll never be the best in our class, but that's because other members of the team are physically superior to you, since you're small and not particularly fast or strong."

"Physical superiority can only take one so far. It may give them the advantage, but if I must, I'll train twice as hard as everyone else to ensure that I can keep up with them. That's why I'm so grateful that you are helping me today, Angela." Clark coloured ever so slightly.

"Yeah, but why did you ask me? Surely one of your crew, or Taylor, or whoever would have been more convenient for you."

"Primarily it's because none of them are as skilled as you," Pearce said, "I doubt I would have improved anywhere near as much training with any of my other acquaintances."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Pearce," Angela shot back. While the comment on her skill was a pleasing ego boost, she felt a little irritated that Pearce seemed to have asked for her help only on practical grounds. Hadn't they been getting on a little better recently?

"You should know by now I don't give out idle flattery," Pearce replied. "The other reason I had for asking for your help instead of anyone else's was that I know I can trust you. Our similar situations mean that we get each other's thought processes, whereas especially after yesterday, my other friends may not be so understanding."

"You consider me a friend?" Clark asked, looking at her colleague curiously.

"Err," Pearce stammered, realising his slip of the tongue, "I doubt I could invest my trust in a mere acquaintance, so yes, I would consider you a friend. Is that an issue?" For all the aloof vocabulary and attempt to sound analytical, Pearce's voice betrayed quite a hint of nervousness as he asked the question.

Clark was forced to process the question for a second, as her brain had not quite caught up to what she'd heard. At length, she smiled, a genuine smile rather than a smirk.

"It's no issue at all, Pearce." Hopping up from her seat, Angela picked up her blade once more. "Come on, you're still not good enough, not in my opinion anyway."

Pearce stood up, his blade in his right hand, and a small grin on his face. "I'll just have to change your opinion then."

The diminutive cadet tapped blades with his opponent as a mark of respect, before backing off into an open stance, front foot facing Clark, left foot at an angle, blade at waist height, with the tip pointing at her throat. Angela reciprocated, settling into an identical position, before cockily raising her off hand and giving a 'come at me' gesture.

That was a sufficient motion to get Pearce to attack. A horizontal strike aimed at her midsection was followed by two diagonal strikes downward, one from right to left, the other from left to right. Each was contemptuously blocked by his opponent in rings of steel. Pivoting on his right foot, Pearce sought a new angle of attack, but Clark shifted with him, refusing to allow any openings. Instead, as a poorly aimed strike came in for her shoulder, Angela batted the blade aside and began a counter-attack, using her stature to great effect in maximising her reach.

"Guard up, Sam, no slacking."

For the next minute and a half, Pearce was on the constant defensive, blocking or evading strikes that promised quite a bit of pain were they to connect. More than once he was forced to quickly backpedal rather than attempt to counter, but as they kept going, he began to feel more at ease, more focused rather than panicked. Thus, when he saw an opening as Angela slightly over-extended a lunge, he took it, neatly side-stepping the blow before dealing Clark a painful strike to the ribs. Wellesley's second-in-command staggered back a pace, rubbing the tender area.

"That bloody hurt, you ass," she hissed, before grinning, "Good shot. That's what I expect from you, not some timid half-arsed fighting."

"Why do you expect that from me?" Pearce asked, a curious expression on his visage. "Why do you care if I win or lose?"

Clark hesitated for a moment, "Like I said yesterday, you're the best choice for the team's captain, since I don't think anyone else would be capable of actually winning the tournament, and that's kind of important for me as you know. So I'm making sure you don't lose." She would be lying if she said that was the only reason, but a half-truth was better than no truth. But the words came out harsh pragmatic, rather than emotive. Angela cursed in her head.

"It's quite encouraging to hear that, Miss Clark. I will try my utmost to live up to those expectations," Pearce replied, offering a half-smile that only partially covered the downcast thoughts rolling through his head. He'd been hoping that his clumsy attempts at being more sociable were yielding results, but apparently not.

Well, fuck. Now Clark felt pretty guilty. They'd made some progress in opening up to each other, and then she'd been passive-aggressive rather than honest, bringing their conversation to a screeching halt. It was more of a reflex than anything else, as her single-minded drive to excel had made her quite cold and contemptuous to those around her, especially since very few of them would understand her situation and why she couldn't afford to fail. But she hadn't meant it this time.

Pearce saw Angela's brow furrow, and assumed it was a negative response. He rather overtly tried to change the subject.

"If you don't mind me asking Miss Clark, could you tell me some more about yourself? It occurs that I know next to nothing about you beyond our limited interactions in class."

"Huh? Oh, well I'm from Warwick, although my mother's originally from Northern Ireland. I'm a grade 4 flautist, not that I keep up with my practice, and I enjoy watching sport and motorsport, particularly rugby and Formula One." Clark, grateful that her companion had changed the subject, forewent her usual reticence to open up to people in favour of getting their conversation back on track. "And you, Pearce? Other than the fact you know some foreign girl, all I know about you is that you work hard and have a shitty home life like mine. What makes you tick?"

Pearce shifted uncomfortably. "I'm from St Albans. I moved to Japan for a brief amount of time while my parents were on a research project, which is when I met Erwin, then I returned home. I'm a grade 5 in double bass, as my father pushed me to learn the same instrument as him. As for what I enjoy, I don't really know."

"What do you mean you don't really know?" Clark asked, "Surely there are some things you really like."

"I enjoy my studies," Pearce said.

"That's not what I meant! Don't you have any hobbies?"

Pearce looked sheepish. "Not really. I was so hyper-focused on passing exams and making sure I stayed at this school that I haven't really found time to enjoy myself."

"Christ on a bike Pearce! You mean to tell me you've done literally nothing other than study since you came here?" Clark gawked at the statement, only to receive a nod from her counterpart. She ran a hand through her raven hair, her expression aghast. "I think you need some help."

Pearce's expression became even more downcast, and he stared at his shoes nervously until a delicate finger lifted his chin up. Angela offered what she hoped was a reassuring expression to the boy.

"That wasn't criticism. Taking time off is important, or you'll just build up stress in your system, and then you'll have a breakdown. Yesterday, your emotions were up and down because you couldn't handle all the stress, and you barely knew how to deal with it. I don't need my captain messing up because he overworked himself."

The effect of her statement was somewhat ruined by her realisation of where her hand was, and subsequent rapid retraction of it, but it still sufficed in its purpose. It also had the amusing side effect of making Pearce's countenance flush red at the contact. When he finally spoke, it was in quite a small voice.

"Would you mind helping me?"

Clark smiled wryly.

"I'll try my best."

**Carrier Zuikaku – Oarai Girls Academy – 1300hrs**

It was around lunchtime that Oarai called a halt to their practice, at least for a short while. The sun was beating down overhead and the vehicles were beginning to become uncomfortably hot, the temperature being far higher now that they were approaching the north coast of Australia. The grey panzer jackets that most of the girls elected to wear had been unbuttoned, or in the case of Duck Team, outright discarded as the day got warmer and warmer. To provide the girls with a little protection against the merciless lash of the sun, field caps had been provided by the Student Council, in a matt desert pattern. Apparently the matching jackets were being finished up by the sewing club, to be ready for tomorrow's match.

Whilst the rest of the team were given time to rest, the captains were all summoned to the student council's office, to finalise their plans for the next day. Most of them looked worse for wear, the hot climes being somewhat out of the girls' comfort zones.

"Uh, fatigue levels… climbing," Nekota gasped, stumbling into the student council office with sweat running off her brow, "Require… restorative consumable." She collapsed onto one of the sofas in the meeting area, deftly catching a bottle of water thrown to her by Momo as she did so.

"If this is what it's like on Friday, we need to end the match pretty quickly," Momo said, addressing the rest of the captains, "Or our team will be collapsing in their vehicles."

"I don't think that is wise," Miho replied. "St Gloriana will be suffering from the heat just as badly as us, and unlike Pravda in the snow, they aren't fully used to it. In fact, given their rigid code of etiquette, they might even be wearing their normal uniform despite its unsuitability for the climate. We can't just rush in because we dislike the place we're fighting in."

"I would be inclined to agree," Nakajima said, thoroughly unfazed by the heat despite the heavy overalls she was wearing, "Anyway, we've outfitted the tanks to carry a jerry can or two on them so we all have water to tap into if the match goes on for too long. As long as everyone takes a canteen, wears sunscreen and a hat, we shouldn't have any problems."

"What about the mechanical end?" Yuzu asked.

"Well, the Tiger P is for once not the most vulnerable here, as it has decent filters on the intakes, but all of the tanks are at a bit of a risk of getting sand in filters and breaking down, that's just par for the course in terrain like this. If I was to put a bet on it, it's probably the Char or the Type 89 that'd are most likely to break."

"Don't forget that all of this applies to the St Gloriana tanks too though," Miho reminded everyone. "The Crusaders are especially vulnerable to the desert conditions, as they weren't that reliable to begin with."

"Discussing all the mechanical details is fine, but what is our plan?" Sodoko asked rather impatiently. It seemed the heat was wearing on her patience, something that was already thin as it stood.

"Caesar was saying something about us aiming to isolate their scout units and then bait and ambush their main body," Erwin said, "Using the dunes and adequate bait, we can easily lure them onto our heavier guns, since we have the armament advantage."

No-one asked why Erwin had replaced Caesar as Hippo team's representative for this battle, as they were all by now familiar with her soul name, which belonged to a man often known as 'The Desert Fox'. The connection was reasonably obvious.

"We should be aiming to run rings around St Gloriana," Miho said, "Their Matilda tanks are slow and cumbersome, not to mention the Churchill VII. Their heavy armour may protect them from direct fire, but it is far less effective on the flanks, so we should be aiming to envelop them. Their weapons are fairly anaemic at range, as they mostly carry two-pounder guns, so we can hit them at distances and vanish if necessary."

"What's our deployment going to be like?" Azusa asked.

"We'll maintain a main force with a couple of outriders – Hippo and Turtle teams will be acting on their own as they have low profiles and powerful guns, meaning that they can launch ambushes. Is that agreeable?"

Erwin grinned, while Anzu merely shrugged. "Least it's a little easier than when we had to do it against Kuromorimine," the redhead remarked.

"I'll coordinate the rest of the force," Miho added, "and we'll have Leopon team as the flag tank. Their thick armour and 88mm should make them fairly secure against the 2 and 6-pounder guns the British tanks will have."

"Most commendable," Erwin remarked. "With a tough flag tank, we'll be freer to make powerful attacks." In the same vein as her namesake, the blonde seriously disliked being forced into restricted operations, as she wanted to do her own thing.

"Have we given any thought as to how we plan to open the match?" Yuzu prompted, trying to make sure they covered all the bases needed for their preparation.

On cue, Momo pulled a map chart over the whiteboard to illustrate the battlefield. Unlike most of the ones they had become familiar with, this map was virtually devoid of any colour variation, essentially being a mish-mash of contour lines on a yellow background. A single grey line delineated a road that ran through the battlefield, while a few grey dots indicated impassable rock formations.

"The first thing we want to do," Miho said, pointing at the map, "Is get intel on where the enemy is. It's very easy to lose our opponents amongst dunes and hills here, and because the terrain is passable in most of the battleground we can't easily predict what St Gloriana will do."

"So, we find a high point and get a good field of vision, then send out a few scouts," Azusa offered, clearly trying to formulate her own plans for the day she might end up leading the team.

"Yeah, then we can go from there," Miho replied, offering Azusa an encouraging smile. She traced from their start-point, which Momo had helpfully marked on the map in the South-West. St Gloriana's was, as expected, in the North-East of the battle-zone, with the East-West road bisecting the area down the middle. Miho gestured to a point just below the road, near the centre area of the map. "This is the highest point in the area, and it overlooks the road so we have a good field of view since its flat there. We should move to there to begin with and then work from there."

"It's also a good retreat point as it's a large landmark," Noriko added, "We can orient ourselves around it pretty well."

"But isn't it kinda exposed?" Nekota asked. "There's a lot of flat ground around it."

"It's not that risky," Miho reassured the gamer. "Like I said before, St Gloriana have very little in the way of effective long range fire. If they had Archers or a Firefly it would be a little less wise, but as it stand we should be fine."

"Is that all we need to know Nishizumi?" Anzu said.

"Yeah, we should be fine with that. We've done plenty of practice, we just need to put it into action." Miho looked at all the assembled team leaders. "But make sure everyone's ready for Friday. It'll be hot and uncomfortable, and we don't know how long we'll be out there. So bring water bottles and canteens, and dress sensible. We'll give the tanks a coat of camouflage paint tomorrow too."

"Right right. Yuzu, could you go and check if the art club have finished with their airbrush yet?"

"On it." The long suffering VP stood up and began from the room.

"Oh, Yuzu," Erwin said, catching her just before she left the council office, "Could you check if there's some white paint in there too please? There's something I'd like to add." A big grin spread across the reki-jo's face.

**Carrier Dauntless –The Gym – 1600hrs**

"Eyes up Pearce, your cheering section is here." In response to Angela's prompt, Pearce looked around to the door to the gym, where a number of cadets had entered the hall. On closer inspection, the cadets were those he counted as friends: the members of Montgomery team, Chris and Katherine. Pearce discarded his blade at the side of the hall and walked over to his friends, who were making themselves comfortable on the benches around the practice area.

"It is good to see you," Pearce said. "I know I've a lot of things I need to put right, but I am very happy that you came to watch this."

"You're our friend," Jo replied warmly, "Of course we'd come and support you, mistakes or no."

"Yeah, I mean if a single screw-up was all it took to break a friendship, I'd be all on my lonesome by now," Andrew added.

A tear nearly sprang unbidden to Sam's eye at the support. What did he do to deserve such wonderful friends? He froze for a second, simply electing to revel in the warm feeling it gave him inside, knowing that people cared about him, supported him.

"Sam?" Jo looked at her team leader with quite a worried expression. He'd just frozen, and his usual unreadable expression made it impossible to tell how he was feeling. Had she upset him? She stood up, beckoning to the other crew members, and drew Pearce into a hug, the others all piling in around them. Across the hall, Angela's face twisted in disgust at the soppy display.

It was also at this point that Pearce zoned back in, discovering himself swamped by those closest to him. Not that he could see easily, as Jo's lustrous brown hair covered his vision, but the sense of claustrophobia gave away what was happening.

"Erm, what are you doing?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow. He wasn't exactly very comfortable with the situation, being unused to that sort of intimate contact, and was trying his best not to react.

"Well, you looked kinda sad, so we're giving you a hug," Chris answered, releasing his grip on the others and giving them space to disperse.

"Thank you, but I'm fine."

"So, are you ready?" the lanky captain asked.

"He'd definitely be able to gut you now," Clark interrupted, wandering over to the group. She'd thrown a hoodie over her gym clothes to keep warm now she'd finished training Pearce.

"And Chloe?"

"Her too, if he concentrates." Angela fixed Pearce with a hard stare. "And he'd better, because I'm gonna kick him up and down the ship if he doesn't win after all the effort I put in to train him. Remind me how far that is?"

"A little over six miles," Liam drawled. The sleepy gunner had sprawled himself over one of the benches, his gaze firmly fixed on the ceiling. "More like seven given that you can't take a straight route from one end to the other."

"That sounds like incredible fun," Pearce said sarcastically.

"Well, don't fuck it up then," Angela grinned.

Seeing the camaraderie between the pair gave Chris a devious idea to tease the pair of them. After, Clark's defensiveness and Pearce's lack of emotional experience made them easy targets for a good bit of teasing.

"So, you've been training Sam then Angela? Just the pair of you, alone together, working up a sweat?" The leer that accompanied the questions left Angela in no doubt as to what he was trying to imply, but Pearce spoke before she could.

"Well yes, it was quite physically taxing too. I wasn't very good at first either, but I think I got better as we carried on."

"Was Angela satisfied by your performance?"

"I would hope so, but you'd have to ask her."

Pearce and Chris had conducted the entire exchange with straight faces, although it was taking quite a bit of effort on Chris's part to maintain it. Clark meanwhile, was consciously restraining herself from flattening both of them, her countenance now a brilliant crimson, debatable as to whether in embarrassment or rage. She glared at Chris when he turned to her, a grin threatening to spread across his features.

"So Angela, was Sam's swordplay good? Or were you unsatisfied?"

Clark's teeth ground together so loudly as to be audible. Fine, if he wanted to play it like that, she could beat him at his own game.

"Oh, better than good," she said, smiling pleasantly, "I don't think anybody has made me quite so satisfied in a while."

"Does that mean you want a repeat performance?" The grin broadened a little.

"Oh definitely. I'd never be happy seeing such skill just once."

The devious grin came into play full force. Chris turned back to Pearce.

"Then it's a date! So, Sam, when do you want to see Angela again?" Pearce flushed a shade of red and looked distinctly uncomfortable at both the mention of the word 'date' and the question in general. Given that he had only just begun opening up to people again as friends, the very idea of anything more than that was understandably terrifying.

"Well, any time really. I quite enjoyed the time we spent together," he mumbled softly. The other cadets, who had been talking to each other as the conversation had gotten underway, went quiet as this scene unfolded. Clark, who had been fuming before, now looked even more het up, and was a very deep shade of scarlet.

Sensing he may have hit a nerve, Chris tried to laugh it off, only to have Katherine deck him with a well-aimed fist. The blonde did not look impressed in the slightest.

"Great work Mr Smooth," she hissed. "You took your little joke too far, and now you've embarrassed them." Looking up at the two he'd been teasing, Chris saw that both of them were shifting uncomfortably on their feet, no doubt feeling incredibly awkward, and strongly avoiding eye contact.

"Bollocks," he muttered. He was saved from having to try and dispel the awkward atmosphere by the arrival of more cadets, this time much of their class, including Marlborough team. Spying Chloe, he spoke to Pearce, "Eh, Sam, your opponent's here."

The statement cut the tension apart immediately, and Pearce's embarrassment vanished for a business-like demeanour in a split-second. There was too much riding on this one battle for him to be distracted by his own petty feelings.

"Taylor, Clark, with me," he said.

The pair complied immediately, the tone of their captain leaving no room for argument. Without a look back, Pearce swept off to greet his opponent, letting Clark and Taylor fall into step just behind him. Seeing the trio approach them, Marlborough team, led by Chloe, stepped forward. The Churchill gunner looked Pearce up and down, taking in his combat gear, as well as his less-than-immaculate condition and smirked.

"You've been training, haven't you? Good, I don't want it to end too quickly."

"I wanted to provide a challenge for you," Pearce replied evenly.

"I'll be the judge of that."

"Quite. Standard competition rules, I assume? One of our fellow captains can referee, and pick their own second and third official."

"Got it. But not one of yours," Chloe pointedly looked at Clark and Chris, "we need someone impartial. Katherine will do." She beckoned the blonde over.

"Would you terribly mind being our referee?" Pearce asked, receiving a nod in return. "Feel free to pick a second and third official."

"Ellie, Caitlyn," Katherine called, getting the attention of Roberts team's gunner and her own communicator. She knew both would be reliable and attentive assistants who would judge the match fairly.

As Katherine explained the roles her assistants would be playing, the two sides withdrew to opposite ends of the gym hall. There was no subterfuge to be had here, only a straight-up match. One bout of ten minutes, with a break in the middle, with points awarded where what would be a debilitating strike was landed. Whoever had the most points at the end would win, simple as that. The referee was there to stop overly dangerous behaviour and call breaks if necessary, assisted by two officials who would give different perspectives on the strikes.

"She's taller and has longer reach than you. She's fast and knows her stuff. I doubt you have any strength over her either, so you're going in as the underdog," Clark said bluntly, before grinning, "But she's probably gonna be cocky and underestimate you. Give her a bloody nose."

"What she said," Chris offered, "I reckon you can do it if you try hard enough."

"I will give it my all." Pearce stood up from the bench where he had been waiting with his friends, and strode to the middle of the hall, blade in hand. Chloe matched the motion, meeting him in the middle.

"I'm surprised you even agreed to this match," she said.

"I told you I would do whatever was needed to make amends. If I'm not prepared to take risks to do that, what sort of a person am I?" The image of Erwin drifted through his mind, steeling his resolve.

"A nice sentiment, I appreciate it."

"Well then, shall we?"

"Indeed." The pair raised blades, and brought them against each other as a form of salute, before taking a few steps backward. Katherine looked at both, receiving nods form each combatant before declaring the match officially started.

"Begin!"

Chloe was already moving, feet gliding across the floor in a direct line towards her smaller opponent. Her arming sword, gripped firmly in her right hand, came up in a glittering arc, aiming to open Pearce from hip to shoulder. It was a sudden and decisive move, testament to both her experience and her determination to win this match handily. But the blow did not land. Pearce had moved as soon as he saw the strike coming in, stepping back from the blow and letting the blade whistle past before attempting to put a strike of his own in on Chloe's exposed shoulder. Instead of meeting cloth and then flesh, the sword met its fellow as Chloe twisted, bringing her own weapon to match his.

"A good start," Chloe taunted, "But not quite good enough."

Pearce merely grimaced as the blades ground against each other, neither making headway. Instead of continuing the futile struggle he leapt backwards in a couple of quick bounds, buying himself more space, even if for a moment. Chloe was quick to reapply the pressure, driving forward once more with two diagonal slices as well as a false edge strike, all of which pushed Wellesley's captain back further.

'He's fighting just the way he commands,' Angela thought to herself as she watched the exchange, 'Nothing but defence until an opening occurs. He's not gonna win that way.'

Sidestepping a thrust to his exposed right, Pearce grimaced, coming to the same conclusion swiftly. Chloe left few gaps in her defence, and those were quickly closed as she flowed from attack to attack. At the moment all he could do was dodge and parry, and the success he'd had though far was going to run out sooner or later. It was about thirty seconds after that thought crossed his mind that it occurred. A parry to the left gave Chloe sufficient room to twist her blade into a quick thrust into his shoulder; in exactly the same place Angela had hit him earlier. Katherine ordered a quick break to let the pair reset. Both fighters gasped for air before they went to re-engage.

"You know, I thought I'd be about 4-nil up by this point," Chloe said, "You're not doing too bad considering."

"Thank you for the compliment," Pearce answered, before his face set into a mask of concentration again, "I'm giving it my utmost."

When the pair continued, it was again Chloe that took the initiative. A speedy thrust was converted into a horizontal strike that would have bisected Pearce had it connected, followed by a series of varied strikes from different angles, all designed to gauge Pearce's weakpoints. Faced with this, Sam again yielded ground, shifting his feet more than his blade, forcing Chloe to come to him. Unfortunately, the gunner's superior physical conditioning meant that she would not wear out any time soon. He parried another strike at his shoulder strongly, before using the room to leap back again. As Chloe closed, he switched tactics. Rather than step back from the blows and attempt to put her out of reach, he stepped inside the reach of her blade, letting the diagonal strike sail past before delivering a neat strike to his opponent's stomach. Chloe took a step back, coughing from the impact.

"Hurts a little more without armour on," she chuckled. "Good shot."

"Score is 1-1," Katherine announced. "Thirty seconds until break. Begin."

Chloe sped in with her customary speed, but the last thirty seconds were to see no score, only the ringing of steel clashing and the sounds of determined exertion. Chloe was a little less forward with her attacks, while Pearce simply maintained a stoic defence, refusing to yield any openings. There was little movement, only swift parries and strikes on behalf of both combatants.

"Break!"

Five minutes had elapsed. Only two points had been scored. The pair broke away from each other, taking in gasps of air. Chris chucked a water bottle to Pearce, who nearly fumbled the catch in his combat gloves before getting a firm grip and opening the receptacle. The lanky captain clapped his friend on the shoulder as he reached the benches.

"Not too bad a show. Just get one more point and you have it."

"The same applies to her too."

"True, but you're getting a feel for her combat style right? That's how you do everything, get the full picture and then solve the problem."

"Unless she's not shown her full hand yet," Angela interjected. "Chloe's experienced at this sort of stuff. I'll bet she has a trick or two up her sleeves." She looked Pearce dead in the eyes. "Look Sam, if you fight like you have been you're going to lose. You over-analyse things and wait for certainties before committing. It's paralysing you Pearce. Take a leap every once in a while, go with your gut. If you do that, you can win."

Pearce was at a loss for words, an increasingly common occurrence in these times, as things just kept surprising him. The faith being displayed was quite touching, and he faltered looking for things to say.

"I'll do my best," he stammered out. Clark nodded.

"You better. Don't make the time I spent go to waste. If you need more motivation, just remember your blonde friend at Oarai. Do it for her."

"She's only one of the people I'm doing this for," Pearce replied, steeling his mind for what needed to be done.

"Break's over!" Katherine called. Chris slapped Pearce on the shoulder again.

"Go win this." Pearce nodded, his face set into a determined expression, lips forming a narrow line eyes steely. He walked back to the middle of the gym, boots clapping against the hardwood floor, to meet Chloe for the next round.

"I hope you're ready to step it up," Chloe said, grinning widely.

'Oh my, it appears she's starting to enjoy this,' Pearce thought. It would be his luck to fight the combat nut of the cadets. Nevertheless he replied, "Quite. I think I can offer a little bit more." He kept Angela's words at the forefront of his mind as he tapped blades with Chloe once more before stepping back.

Katherine looked at both participants, receiving a nod to indicate their readiness. She raised her hand into the air. Chloe bent her knees slightly, ready to move as soon as the timer began.

"Begin!"

Chloe leapt forward, anticipating Pearce's usual retreat with a speedy pursuit. It would have been effective, had her opponent not moved forward, neatly sidestepping her before delivering a textbook cut to the ribs on her left side. Despite the wince of pain that wracked her, the gunner grinned even wider.

"Oh-ho, it seems you've got some fight after all! Give me more of that!"

The pair reengaged immediately, blades ringing as steel bit into steel. If anything Chloe was moving faster despite the hit to her ribs, and swords connected in flashes of silver as both sought holes in each other's defence. They were well-matched, as Pearce had stepped up a gear to match the feverish energy of Marlborough team's gunner, using the aggression Clark had encouraged to vary his defence and prevent Chloe from establishing a working attack rhythm, precise interrupts halting any build of momentum.

Pearce deflected a lunge off to the right by using his free hand to brace his blade, before taking a step to the left to re-extend his arm for a horizontal strike, only to find that Chloe had pivoted on the spot and was bringing another swing round. A desperate parry bought him a few seconds to leap backwards, huffing in exertion.

"Where do you get the energy from?" he wondered aloud.

"The more passionate you are about something, the more energetic you can be while doing it," Chloe said, feinting a strike towards Pearce's shoulder before lunging for his thigh, "I enjoy fighting, so of course I've got energy for it. You should be a little more passionate Pearce, you're always far too composed. Let loose a little!"

"Passion doesn't always have to be displayed outwardly," Pearce shot back, parrying the lunge viciously before chambering one of his own, "I think you'll find I'm quite determined."

Chloe forced the lunge to one side and held it there, maintaining the blade bind before looking at Pearce seriously.

"That's not passion! Passion is enjoying something for its own sake, or because you believe in something. It's something more volatile than determination. Maybe if you listened to your heart more rather than your head, we might not have needed to fight."

Chloe broke the bind before delivering another lunge, this time straight into Pearce's breastbone. Rather than stumbling back, as both of them had when hit before, the diminutive cadet went sprawling backward, landing hard on the floor.

"Point Chloe," Katherine announced, "But I will issue a warning for excessive force. Any infractions after this one will result in penalties. Can you continue?" she asked Sam, receiving a nod from him in return.

Pearce hauled himself to his feet, rubbing the area the blow had landed in, trying to ignore the pain that was spreading through his chest. He palmed the grip of his blade, and glared at Chloe, waiting for Katherine to restart the match.

"Continue."

This time round, Chloe was far more cautious, approaching her smaller opponent steadily rather than rushing in and leaving herself open. This was a sensible move as Pearce came to meet her, a cold fury burning in his eyes. Her first guard was smashed open by a vicious sweeping blow, which was then followed by a combination of short cuts from various angles.

"You dare to question my devotion to what I do?" Pearce hissed, "I have put my heart and soul into the cause I fight for. Simply because I am less expressive than others does not mean the strength of my feelings is any weaker."

"Then show me that devotion."

"Gladly."

A waist-high slash forced Chloe to leap backwards, before she re-joined the fray with a strike of her own, aimed at Pearce's bicep. The boy twisted narrowly to avoid it before pivoting and launching an attack aimed at her left thigh. Essentially forced to turn around each other, the pair leapt apart, sizing each other up, before clashing once more. Evenly matched, two more points were scored by both fighters before Katherine called a one minute warning. By this point, Chloe was sporting a large bruise on her left forearm, whilst Pearce had a small cut near his elbow. They ached all over, other hits having left them in at least a bit of pain where they hadn't quite pulled their blows. But neither would back down.

"You'd better score soon, or it'll go to sudden death," Chloe said, "And you're running on fumes."

"I will hold out as long as it takes to win," Pearce replied.

"Is that all you care about?" Chloe questioned, "Not the thrill of combat, or the camaraderie that comes with it, just winning pure and simple?"

"I would gladly walk away if it aided me in my goals. But in this case, winning is the only way for me to fulfil those aims and nothing will stop me from ensuring that I do."

Chloe growled. This callous, logical approach to everything was beginning to piss her off. It was the same emotionless calculations that had cost them their honour against Pravda yesterday and stained their reputation, and she wouldn't allow it to continue.

"Honourless bastard," she spat, preparing for another attack as Katherine nodded for them to re-engage. Rather than the circumspect approach she'd been using prior, she reverted back to her original aggressive form and leapt forward. Except this time, lady luck was not on her side. Her foot skidded as she reached full speed, and the gunner collapsed in a heap about a yard away from her opponent. She looked up with a hateful expression, expecting there to be a blade pointing at her throat.

She found none. Instead, Pearce looked at her quizzically before offering a hand, which Chloe accepted, letting herself be pulled back to her feet. She regarded Pearce with a questioning gaze.

"Why didn't you force me to yield just then?"

"Wouldn't that have been the dishonourable move?" Pearce asked, inflecting it as a rhetorical question. "I told you, I have my own goals, and although winning this fight is important, another of those aims is to better myself, which I would not have been doing had I forced you to surrender. You are not the only person here who feels that our honour was stained by what happened with Pravda, and I am trying, even if it is only in small actions, to make amends for my role in that. Now, are you ready to continue?"

"No," Chloe replied. "At least, not for score. Katherine, I resign. Give this match to Pearce."

"Wait, what?" Simon interrupted from the sidelines. "Chloe, are you just giving up? Have you forgotten what he did?"

"I have not forgotten. But I think, if he's truly serious about making amends and bettering himself, that I am willing to follow him once more. He pledged yesterday that he'd fight with honour, and today he demonstrated it, even if in only a small way. So I'll trust him."

"Hmmph, well I guess that settles it," Simon said, folding his arms and giving a thin smile. "If Chloe's going along with it, then I guess we will as well, right? After all, a deal's a deal." He looked at the rest of his crew, receiving a few nods in return.

"Excellent," Pearce said, "I will try my best not to disappoint you again. We shall convene for training tomorrow as usual, and then two days from now is the Oarai/St Gloriana match for any of those who wish to attend. However, for now, I intend to retire to my bed. Dismissed."

**Chapter End**

**Omake**

"Excellent," Pearce said, "I will try my best not to disappoint you again. We shall convene for training tomorrow as usual, and then two days from now is the Oarai/St Gloriana match for any of those who wish to attend. However, for now, I intend to retire to my bed. Dismissed."

Pearce then promptly collapsed on the floor.

"Wow, I guess he must have been absolutely exhausted after all that's happened today," Chris said, picking up the soft breathing sounds that indicated Pearce had just fallen unconscious as soon as the adrenaline left his system. Another grin crossed his face. "What you were doing with him early must have really tuckered him out, Angela. Are you sure you were only training?"

"I'm gonna rip your head off Taylor," Clark growled, as she spotted the other cadets starting to mutter amongst each other because of Chris's statement. At least his taunting before hadn't been in front of the entire class.

"Oh really, Angie? How do you plan to do that?" Chris grinned. This grin promptly fell from his face as Clark snatched up the blade Pearce had been using.

"I think your head can get mounted on the wall next to the deer!" Clark bellowed as she gave chase to the lanky captain.

"But that's a blunt blade!"

"That only means it'll take more swings! Now get back here!"

"I don't wanna!" Chris shouted over his shoulder, fleeing for the door to the gym with commendable speed. The pursuit continued as Clark thundered through the door after him, and a peaceful quiet settled over the gym.

"So, would any of you mind giving me a hand getting Sam back to his dorm?" Stephen asked.

**Omake End**

**There we are! Another chapter added to the roster, and one closer to the end of this story. I'm back at university for another term now, so updates will likely become less frequent again, but I'll try and keep pace. My internet isn't great so I might not get as distracted!**

**I've got a couple of things on my mind for progression: one, that side story I was mentioning, but encompassing character profiles and other such useful bits for this story and any that follow it. The other was starting a new story. I've been watching a lot of series recently, all of which have given me a lot of inspiration. I'm just concerned about whether or not I could keep several stories going at once. Feel free to leave your thoughts in reviews or PMs, I'm always happy to talk to other writers and readers.**

**One more thing, there's my cooperative series with LW Kilroy, which is up on his deviantart – KilroyLW. I write omakes, he draws them, it's a good time. Check them out. We've started a new multipart one which I titled 'Girls und Paintball', the first pic for which should be up soon.**

**Anyway, until next time, Ja ne!**


	23. Chapter 23: The Heat Is On

**Hey there. I'm back! Surprising as it is to say, considering the work I've been snowed under. I have roughly 300 pages of reading to do a week (with notes) of some incredibly dry material, so I'm hardly clinging on considering I also manage societies and things as well at my university. I know my update schedule is supposed to be every month, and that some people might find my inability to keep it frustrating, but please bear with me, I'm trying my best.**

**Anyway, this chapter is not the battle between St Gloriana and Oarai. This is, as per usual, a buildup chapter dedicated to typing up loose ends before battles create more of them. In this chapter, you will find: A cup of Darjeeling, with a pinch of Miho, swirled together with a spoonful of Erwin and a helping of Pearce, all served with a plate of tankery, (cook at Gas Mark 6).**

**In other news, I estimate this story will be done around the forty chapter mark, maybe sooner dependent on what I decide to throw in or not. When those chapters will be forthcoming is debatable due to my work schedule. I also laid the foundations for a new story, which I am giving the working title 'Murder of Crows'. It's a Sekirei story I thought up while in a bad mood the other day, and rather than take my rage out on my unfortunate housemates, I set key to board and started typing. Don't expect it any time soon though, because this story is my first priority.**

**But I've waffled on long enough. To the show!**

**Chapter Start**

**Carrier Dauntless – The Gym – 1630hrs – Wednesday 12****th**** February**

As his cadets began to file out of the gym, Captain Hart ducked into a side corridor, before re-emerging as if he'd not been hanging around outside for the last half an hour. He gave a cheery nod to a couple of the students, asking what had just gone on as if one of his colleagues had seen his students come here and mentioned it to him.

"Pearce and Chloe were resolving the differences between them," Adam shrugged, his crewmates form Roberts team nodding in agreement.

"Was a great fight too," Alex grinned, "Although it could have been more violent."

If Hart hadn't been watching it though the door, he would likely have been more concerned by the statement than he actually was. Regardless, he thanked the pair for informing him and then swept into the gym proper, finding the few stragglers who were still packing things up. He gave the ones that looked round at him a cheery wave, before making a beeline for the person he was looking for, who was picking up his bag from the benches at the side of the hall.

"Mr Pearce, could I have a word with you please?" Hart said.

"Of course sir," Pearce replied, retrieving his belongings and following the tutor out of the hall, but not before giving a nod to his colleagues.

The boy trailed along behind Captain Hart for a short while before they reached the latter's office. Moving behind his desk, Hart gestured for Pearce to have a seat, before doing so himself.

"Doubtless you know why I wanted to have a word with you."

"It was reasonably obvious sir," Sam replied. "I was in fact expecting it, given that was the reason I told the headmaster where we were holding our duel. As well as protocol, of course."

"Yes, actually I thought I'd start with that before we get to the real meat of the issue," John mused. "What possessed you to fight over the leadership of the team rather than settle it through negotiation?" He kept his tone level, having jumped to conclusions one too many times in recent days.

"The fight was the idea of Marlborough team sir. I offered to undertake any task if it would reconcile our team and preserve our cohesion, and they demanded that I fight Chloe in a duel over their honour and my leadership. From what I have gathered, honour is very important to them, more so than the rest of the tankery team. If I had lost the duel, I would have resigned my position as overall commander."

Hart was somewhat surprised by the boy's dedication, although it trod a fine line between perseverance and recklessness.

"There weren't any injuries, were there?" Hart enquired, feigning ignorance.

"I will be feeling the hits in the morning sir, but that is all."

"Good, although I do hope that you and your peers can settle disagreements across the table, rather than in the ring next time."

"For the sake of my aching limbs, I hope so sir," Pearce answered, injecting a bit of dry humour into his tone. His eyes remained fixed on Hart, waiting for the first sign of the anticipated explosion of vitriol over the Pravda match. Given the man's rather more kindly and civilised disposition, it would not have surprised Pearce if he were angry about the events therein.

The pair sat in silence for a minute, both observing the other – Hart to see if could get any more of a reading on his student, Pearce preparing himself for a lecture. It was Hart that broke the tension first.

"So, shall we get onto the elephant in the room?" he said, receiving a nod from Pearce.

"If I may speak candidly sir, I must say I am surprised that you are not somewhat more… animated about the subject," Sam said, receiving a smile from Hart in return.

"Let's just say I made myself look like a bit of a child when I talked to the head about this, for doing exactly what you just suggested, so I thought I had better show more decorum this time round." Feeling satisfied at having broken the tension without incident, Hart pressed on. "Perhaps you can explain to me what happened yesterday, as well as your thoughts on the matter?"

Pearce released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding in.

"Well sir, having been forced out of our positions by Pravda's counterattack and facing a pursuit scenario, our heading was to take us across a lake, which my earlier study of the terrain had suggested would be passable for armoured vehicles. Seeing an opportunity to disrupt our opponents' line of advance, I thus ordered the team to break the ice behind them, in order to make Pravda go around the breakage, thus buying us time. Some of my peers disobeyed this order as they felt it improper. Regardless, the net result was to leave the ice mostly intact, but deceptively thin. This led Pravda's lead element to fall through the ice, necessitating their rescue by their teammates."

The boy had kept his tone completely neutral, betraying no hint as to his feelings on the matter. His delivery was crisp and precise, prompting Hart to frown.

"Would you attribute the failure of the plan and hence the dangerous situation to your teammates' insubordination?" he asked.

"I believe the point is entirely academic sir, and as I am not an expert could not presume to make a judgement." Pearce answered evasively this time, choosing instead to circumvent the question rather than lay blame at any door.

Hart merely frowned deeper. Evidently Pearce wished to prevent a situation in which it looked like he was either passing the blame or passing judgement on his teammates. It seemed a more direct approach might be necessary to get the answers he wanted.

"In your opinion, whose fault was it that the incident occurred?"

Hart got his desired reaction this time. Pearce's brow furrowed, and the carefully schooled neutral expression he had been wearing was ruined by the angered glare he directed at his superior, accompanied by a tightening of his jaw. He was not however expecting the response he got.

"It was my fault sir. I am to blame for this debacle and the shadow it cast on our school's good name. I will not have you imply that any of my peers were at fault."

John had not predicted such a vehement response from his student, especially in defence of his peers. If he had read Pearce correctly, the boy was coldly professional and maintained few close relationships, certainly not across the entire team. Despite the fact he displayed some maturity, he would not have ascribed it to being enough for a retort like this. The captain found himself taken aback by the bite in the cadet's tone.

Pearce on the other hand was internally fuming. He was not pleased to have his instructor questioning either his integrity with probing questions, or that of his teammates, and although it was obvious that Captain Hart was out of the loop in this matter, his current state of fatigue and stress made the cadet far less tolerant than usual.

Seeing the barely concealed irritation in the cadet opposite him, Hart changed tack.

"If you wouldn't mind me asking then, could you explain how you feel about this? I still feel like I'm lacking understanding of what happened. The news coverage only gave a very limited picture."

Pearce hesitated for a moment before relenting. "Sir, what happened yesterday has only given me cause for regret. I'm sure the headmaster probably filled you in on my own circumstances with regards to passing this year. If I don't bring our school victory, I am going to be obliged to leave, and that gave me quite a myopic view of tankery – after all it looks like a wargame, right down to the live ammunition. I failed to consider that it is something more. Tankery is a sport, that much my opponents have drummed into me, but I treated it like a battle." Pearce looked at Hart, and then cast his eyes toward the floor. "And by doing so I nearly cost five girls their lives."

Hart felt a twinge of guilt for having judged Pearce's actions before speaking to him. The boy had evidently made a mistake, that was true, but interrogating him over it was hardly helping matters. He decided that he'd ask one more question and leave it at that.

"Just one more question if you don't mind Samuel. As you said, I'm well aware of the pressure you are under to stay at this school. But is that the only reason you would go so far for victory?" Hart asked. To his surprise, Pearce smiled, just a little.

"Sir, if you had asked me this question at the start of the tournament I'd have been hard pressed to deny that charge. Now however, I can do so gladly."

The statement was infuriatingly vague, but John did take heart in the answer.

"I think that's all I've got to ask you, Mr Pearce," he said, rising from his chair, an action mirrored by Pearce. Both snapped off a salute. "I'll leave you to recuperate from your little spar. After all, some of you are shipping out early on Friday are you not, to watch the Oarai-St Gloriana match?"

Pearce's eyes widened. It had totally slipped his mind. "Yes sir," he answered.

"Splendid! Now, go and get some rest." As Pearce reached the threshold of the office, Hart called out to him, "Oh, and Samuel, if you need my help with anything, you know where to find me. My door's always open."

Stopping in the doorway, Pearce looked back and nodded, and then left, closing the door behind him.

**Thursday 13****th**** February – 0830hrs**

"Morning, cadets!" Hart greeted his students with a cheerful wave as they filed out onto the parade ground for muster. He waited for the tramp of marching feet to quiet down and most of his charges to form files before beginning his spiel for the morning. "First of all, I want to congratulate you on winning your match on Tuesday since I couldn't be there to watch you in person. I know there were a few hitches, but I think we can move ahead with our heads held high, and do better in the next round."

The cadets were deathly quiet, but Hart felt like what he had said was necessary, and had gone down as well as could be expected.

"Now, we're going to start the day with a training session as you usually would to get you warmed up. But at midday, we'll break for lunch and then reconvene in one of the lecture halls. I might not be able to teach you the in-depth workings of each of your vehicles, but I'll try and provide some insight in the ways I am capable of. So, I'll be lecturing you on Heinz Guderian's work Achtung Panzer, as well as Tukhachevsky's ideas of Deep Battle. After that, I've dug up the tactical manuals issued to our tank regiments in World War Two, and will be issuing them to you for study, since they have some valuable material in them. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir!"

The affirmative cry echoed across the parade ground loud and clear, and Hart could not refrain from smiling a little. He'd had a moment to think on the strengths and weaknesses his talk with the headmaster had highlighted, and decided that rather than try and be what he wasn't, he would instead play to his strengths, and try and help his pupils as best he could.

"Good! I'll see you at 1300hrs in Lecture Hall 06. Mr Pearce, you have the floor."

The diminutive cadet strode forward and turned to look at his peers. He maintained a firm gaze as he observed the other cadets, before addressing them with a perfunctory statement in his usual analytical tone.

"I have little else to add at this moment, so go and begin preparing your vehicles. We'll be working double hard so you all enjoy the little sit-down you'll get in Captain Hart's lecture. Parade, dismissed."

Once more the clatter of boots filled the parade ground as forty-five students walked over to the vehicle sheds to begin the day's practice. It was not long before the throaty grumble of tank engines filled the air with the stench of petrol. Pacing over to his own vehicle, parked near one end of the row of sheds, Pearce gave a nod to Taylor, who was clambering onto the Achilles to take his usual post in the commander's seat. The next vehicle in line was the M24 Chaffee, and Sam caught Clark's eyes as he passed.

"Angela, would you mind organising the team practice for a short while? I need to have a chat with my crew," Pearce said, receiving a thumbs-up in response.

"Sure, just make it quick, or you'll miss all the fun," Clark replied, before injecting a massive amount of sarcasm into her tone. "I'd haaaate for you to finish up here late and then miss the better part of practice. Especially with that bloody 88 of yours."

"If I didn't know better Miss Clark, I would say that you were jealous," Pearce taunted back, "After all, your tank does only have a 75mm gun , and it doesn't really pack much of a wallop does it?"

"Cheeky git," Angie said, "Just get your business over with and get out on the field ASAP." Clipping her microphone on, she spoke to the team over the comms net. "Right guys, Pearce needs a minute, so he's put me in charge for now. So if you're all ready, follow us!"

The Chaffee roared out of the shed with a commendable amount of acceleration, Charlotte apparently having been in high spirits this morning to generate so much enthusiasm. It was soon followed by the remainder of Wellesley's force, bar the mighty Tiger, which remained idling where it was. Pearce strolled over to the massive vehicle and clambered onto the hull.

"Stephen, turn the engine off." The growling of the Maybach engine faded away into nothingness. "Can I have a word with you all for a minute?"

The hatches popped open and the four other crew members debarked from the tank, perching on the front hull with each other. Liam, who'd elected to lie back on the flat armour plating of the Tiger, spoke first.

"I'm guessing this is going to be some sort of apology about Tuesday's match, right?" he said rhetorically. "Save it. We forgive you."

"What?" Pearce stared at Liam incredulously.

"You did something we thought was wrong, we were upset with you, you decided you were wrong and apologised, we got over it. That's what friends do, right?"

"I just… I'm not very good at interacting with people, and I wanted to make sure you still were my friends," Pearce said quietly.

"Of course we are," Andrew said, "People make mistakes. We would be terrible friends if we just abandoned you over them, especially when you didn't mean to do what you did. We want to support you when you have problems, but we can't do that if we don't know about them. Most of us had no idea you could be kicked out of the academy if you didn't win. You just have to trust us."

It meant a lot to Pearce to hear his friends reaffirm their faith in him. Even if he wasn't the most sociable friend they could have had, the sense of belonging that they gave him was one of the most important reasons for Pearce to want to stay at Wellesley.

"You've apologised enough already Sam," Jo added, "Let's just do our best from here on out, ok?"

Pearce nodded, before clambering up onto the tank with his friends, clapping each of them on the shoulder.

"We'll definitely do our best from here on out. Now, to your stations, I believe we should make an appearance on the field lest Miss Clark 'finish before us'." He stepped onto the top of the turret and gesture to the practice field, coat flapping slightly in the breeze. "Right chaps, to battle."

Montgomery team sprang to their assigned tasks with gusto, their bulky steed roaring to life before prowling onto the field in search of prey.

**Oarai – Carrier Zuikaku – Somewhere in the Arafura Sea – 1000hrs**

"Miporin, it's really hot!" Saori exclaimed, to which Miho could only nod her head in agreement.

The comms officer's observation, apart from being self-evident, was also something of an underestimation, at least in Miho's opinion. While the Japanese summer had made doing tankery quite uncomfortable before, trying to train in more equatorial climes was several times as taxing. They'd only had the tanks out for an hour, but already it was stifling heat inside the vehicles, even with some of the hatches open, and Karina had learnt the hard way not to touch the armour plate with her bare hands, leaving Rabbit team's driver sporting a few blisters on her fingers. Miho was herself feeling the heat, even with the ability to stand up in the turret hatch, and like many of her teammates she'd already donned a cap to shield her head from the glaring sunlight.

"It's better that we get used to some of the heat today than be forced to bear it tomorrow," Hana said, even her normal composure a little undermined by the heat and humidity.

"I suppose so," Saori huffed. "Miporin, remind me what our objectives were in this session?"

"We're going to be playing a game of hide and seek basically," Miho said, "Since Hippo and Turtle teams are supposed to be our outriders, we let them go into the training area first, and then we are tasked with hunting them out. It'll give them practice with hit and run tactics."

"We didn't think this through did we?" Yukari replied. "We already know what Turtle team is capable of in a stealth situation, and Hippo team is led by someone who emulates 'The Desert Fox'."

"Yukari, how did Erwin acquire that nickname? I'm not terribly well acquainted with the subject," Hana said.

"Well, Miss Erwin's soul name is based on that of Erwin Rommel, a German field marshal from the Second World War. He got a lot of fame at the start of the war for being a daring commander of a panzer division, but he eventually got promoted to general, and was sent to Africa with a small body of troops to help the Italians, who were struggling with the British Western Desert Force."

"Ah, so that explains the desert part of the nickname."

"Yeah! Rommel eventually acquired the nickname Desert Fox for his exploits in the North Africa, where he used a lot of deception and surprise in his strategies, hence him being cunning like a fox. Plus, there's a really adorable desert animal called the Fennec fox which people also know as the Desert Fox."

Hana turned her head a shade to look at her commander.

"Miho, since you grew up around tanks and tankery, did you ever learn anything about Rommel?"

Oarai's commander paused for a second.

"No, not really. Mother did talk about various proponents of tank warfare a lot, but I heard her say that she didn't approve of Erwin Rommel, as he was a maverick and a troublemaker. She used to talk about men like Manstein and Guderian a lot more."

"Guderian? Isn't that your nickname, Yukarin?" Saori piped up.

"Yeah," Yukari admitted bashfully, "He helped develop Germany's armoured forces in the interwar period, and led large numbers of tank units in the war, as well as helping in the design and manufacture of them."

"I guess he knew a lot about tanks then, just like you Yukarin!"

Yukari blushed a little. Although the compliment might mean little to Saori, to her it was a high praise indeed. She regained her composure as Saori's radio hissed into life with a transmission from Anzu.

"They're ready, Miporin," Saori reported.

"Tell them, ready or not, here we come," Miho replied.

**Wellesley Royal Military Academy – Carrier Dauntless – 1200hrs**

"Cease fire. Practice is over. Unless of course you are inclined to miss your lunch," Pearce said, transmitting the order over the broadcast network.

The sounds of clattering tracks and hammering discharges came to an end with relative swiftness as Wellesley's crews called an end to the hostilities between them. Clark had elected to start the day with a free-for-all match that had gotten the crews fired up, but also five of their tanks knocked out. However, the adrenaline of such raw combat had given the crews little time to dwell on their issues from the past few days, and had gone some way into re-establishing cohesion, even if it was just within the crews themselves.

The four tanks that had remained operational – the Achilles, Allenby team's Churchill, the Comet and Tiger 131 – retrieved their comrades so that they were not resigned to tramping back to the academy on foot. Campbell and Clinton teams had clambered aboard the Tiger, using its massive hull practically as a bench, whilst Roberts team had accompanied Wavell team on their Achilles. Marlborough team were perched on the A34 of Hobart team, whilst Russell team had hitched a lift on Allenby team's Churchill.

"How did you manage to stay hidden for half the battle?" Clark asked indignantly, perched on the Tiger's turret next to the commander's hatch. Pearce smiled serenely.

"I believe it might have to do with the fact that we were well over half a mile away from the rest of you, given that our 88 is still effective at that distance."

"Oh yeah, and another thing, why was my team the first to be fired at?"

"Are you trying to imply that I had Liam aim for your tank deliberately?" Pearce said with a hint of amusement in his voice.

"You're damn right that's what I'm implying," Angela replied with a growl.

"Perhaps it was because yours was the one out in the open, or simply because you were the first target we sighted. For all his laid-attitude would imply, Liam is very active with his targeting," Sam answered. He did sometimes wonder how he'd gotten by without bantering like this with his second.

"I'm going to get you for this," Clark growled.

"Then do make sure to aim for the side or rear armour, I know that 75 your tank has isn't exactly devastating," he jested, ducking back into the tank in time to dodge a half-hearted swat to the head.

Whilst Pearce and Clark conversed, elsewhere on the tank their subordinates were doing much the same. With the exception of Stephen, who was focused on actually getting back to the academy without losing all their passengers, Montgomery team had opened all the hatches on their vehicle and were chatting to their friends from the other crews. Jo, Katherine and Alice were chatting amicably around the communicator's hatch, whilst Sean and Andrew were debating the merits of the original Star Wars trilogy (the prequels having been unilaterally agreed upon as inferior). Liam surprisingly was talking to Alexis, Campbell team's gunner, about field medicine, since both had taken some of the voluntary courses on triage.

"It'll do them good to talk," Pearce said quietly.

"Yeah, I was worried that our crews would deteriorate into clannish infighting for a bit," Clark replied, "But I guess cadet loyalty isn't too much of a stretch."

"Even we decided on a sort of clique when we formed our crews though. I took the people I was comfortable with, you took those you were happy around. I think we might have just been lucky that friendship strays outside of those little circles, and that we can find it even where we aren't expecting it." He met Clark's eyes and offered her a pleasant smile. A smile quirked at Angela's lips too.

"Hmm, I suppose we were lucky."

**4 hours later – 1600hrs, Campus Lecture Hall**

"Class dismissed!" Hart announced to the cadets, watching as his weary students packed their belongings back into their bags and headed out of the room. John wasn't sure if his eyes were deceiving him, but they looked more tired than if they'd just done a full day's practice. Shrugging it off, he instead allowed himself to feel a sense of satisfaction at how well the class had gone – the entire team had paid attention to him for the full three hours they'd been working, so he could hardly be annoyed. In fact, seeing them so driven had been quite refreshing.

"Oh, and don't forget to be here bright and early if you're going to the match tomorrow!" Hart hollered at his retreating students.

"Oh man, that's going to be really early," Chris said, bemoaning the potential lack of sleep he would get.

"You aren't obliged to go," Katherine pointed out, walking beside him.

"Are you kidding? I get to avoid class for a day, of course I'm going!"

Katherine just sighed and shook her head. She had pretty much predicted how this conversation would go, but it still exasperated her a little. "So what would you like for tea this evening?" she asked.

Not far ahead of them, Pearce was talking to his crew about the match on Friday. "Are any of you perchance seeking to watch the Oarai-St Gloriana match tomorrow, or are you not interested?"

"Pass," Liam and Stephen said in unison, both thinking that they could instead be in the welcoming comfort of their beds instead. Were it not for the fact he wanted to see Erwin again, as well as the St Gloriana girls, Sam would have agreed with them. It was far easier to watch it in the common room at a more convenient hour.

"I'm up for it," Andrew said, "I'm a bit of an early riser, so I should be fine." Nodding, Pearce turned his gaze on Jo.

"I think I'll pass on this one, sorry," the cheerful brunette said, looking a little sheepish.

"No problem," Pearce replied, "It is a bit of an inconvenience for everyone. I have reasons for going aside from the match, but for the rest of you, I imagine it might be easier to watch it on the television."

"Got it. Well, since the two of you will be leaving early tomorrow, shall we all get dinner together?" Jo asked.

"I have no objections," Pearce answered, seeing the other three guys on the crew nod their assent as well.

**Oarai Girls Academy – Carrier Zuikaku – 1600hrs**

"Port in sight!"

Anglerfish team caught the shout on the wind as they walked home from practice, passing under the control tower from whence the cry had originated. The quintet all glanced at each other before heading up to an observation deck, giving Mako a little bit of time due to her fear of heights. As they stepped out into quite a strong breeze, the five girls got their first glimpse of Port Headland.

"There's certainly not much to it," Mako said, trying not to look down as she stared towards the harbour.

She wasn't wrong – the harbour itself was a large affair, but hardly bustling, and seemed mostly to be for cargo. It was difficult to make much out through the almost constant heat haze in the distance, but it seemed like the town was very diffuse, making the most of the abundant space out in the great expanse of Australia. Used to the more bustling urban setups of Japan, the Oarai girls were a little taken aback by the town's configuration. What especially stuck out was the lack of high-rise buildings on the horizon – it almost seemed as if Port Headland was flat.

But what struck the five tankers most was the very expanse behind the town – the desert. Miles upon miles of dusty, orange-yellow sand, stretching well beyond the horizon. Even more impressive was the way it was illuminated – the sun, now fading towards the horizon with some haste, only made the whole vista more impressive.

"That's some impressive scenery," Yukari commented. She felt equal parts terrified and excited by the hostile environs they would be contesting on the morrow. It was no El Alamein, but it was pretty close.

"And we'll be out there tomorrow," Hana added.

"Then we best make the most of our evening," Saori chirped, "Want to get some ice cream? It's still too hot."

"Definitely. Some strawberry sounds just right about now."

It was but a short walk to the nearest ice cream parlour, and before too long Anglerfish team were settling down with some delicious frozen treats. Between bites of her butterscotch ice cream, Saori looked over to Miho.

"So Miporin, what do you think our chances are come tomorrow?" The youngest Nishizumi turned her gaze back to Saori, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"St Gloriana are the only major national team we haven't managed to beat in a match thus far, but we were quite inexperienced at the time," she replied, politely leaving out the fact that part of it was also due to Momo's frankly terrible plan (and subsequent lack of fire discipline). "But we have since become a lot better, and we've upgraded some of our tanks. St Gloriana will still outnumber us though, but since by their own admission they don't get many new tanks, we can make reasonable estimates at what they'll use. That's why Yukari didn't go and scout them out."

"Yeah, because from what I've been able to tell from watching replays St Gloriana have had the same 12 or so tanks for the last decade," Yukari said. "They'll definitely use the Churchill, maybe a Crusader or two, and the rest will be Matildas."

"They have heavier armour and better group coordination, but that's rendered moot by the open terrain which allows better manoeuvre," Miho expounded, thinking back to the view of the desert they'd gotten earlier.

"As Miss Caesar would say, it'll be just like Carrhae!" Of course, Yukari then had to explain the reference, but the point stood.

"Overall, I think we've got as good a chance as any," Miho finished, "We've come a long way since we started tankery, and we'll definitely be able to fight St Gloriana on even terms. We just have to keep a cool head and work together."

"Yeah!" three of the girls chorused, only to realise Mako was missing. The sleepy driver returned a few seconds later, a second massive sundae in her hands.

"Did I miss anything?"

**Port Headland – Friday 14****th**** February – 0730hrs**

The heat was already rising as the sun began its steady ascent into the sky, but despite that, some people were still enjoying a hot beverage to start their day.

"Pekoe dear, what kind of tea would you like?"

"Um, Earl Grey please, Miss Darjeeling," the petite loader replied, still somewhat bleary eyed from the early start.

"Ah, a fragrant blend. It should certainly help you wake up."

Darjeeling finished pouring the tea into their china and served the cups to her crew, her fellow captains doing likewise. For once the girls were not in their trademark red blazers, having instead opted for some lighter attire to suit the desert heat. Instead the St Gloriana girls were wearing a dusty yellow uniform jacket reminiscent of British desert uniform, although they had kept their black skirts. Field caps were also the order of the day, although Darjeeling had opted for a black service beret, and Ceylon had brought a slouch hat, its broad brim providing a comfortable amount of shade, if impractical in a confined vehicle.

Finishing her own brew, Darjeeling left her team to its own devices and walked over to the commander of one of the Crusader tanks, a distinctive girl with vibrant pink hair and red eyes.

"Good morning Rosehip, are you well?"

"Never better Miss Darjeeling," the girl replied calmly, "I'm ready to show our strength to Oarai once more."

"It's good to see you so spirited. Can you remember your initial orders?"

"Most certainly: take the major hill, attempt a holding action on Oarai so that we can both deny them the vantage point, and allow you to conduct a pincer movement on them." Rosehip's eyes glowed with confidence, and Darjeeling favoured her subordinate with a smile.

"Most commendable. I am certain you will perform splendidly today."

"Thank you, captain."

Darjeeling retired back down the line to her Churchill. All of the tanks had been moved towards the highway that led into the desert, and a set of temporary blocks had been constructed to keep the worst of the elements off the vehicles while they were prepared for battle. A quick glance down the line filled her with confidence: their tanks were gleaming and prepared and their crews were eager looking.

"Everything is as it should be. Let us see what Miho has in store for us," she mused, calling Pekoe and Assam over so they could go and see their erstwhile opponents.

**Oarai Garages – 0745hrs**

"I think we could probably cook breakfast on the tank if it got any hotter," Yuki said, drawing an incredulous look or two from her teammates.

"Are you sure? Isn't that just a myth or something?" Ayumi asked sceptically.

"No, it's definitely possible! I was watching a documentary on the desert war just before we came here, and there's a video of German soldiers frying eggs on their Panzer."

"Ooh, we should definitely try it then," Karina said, drooling a little at the idea of a cooked breakfast, "If we can get some bacon and eggs, that'd be really awesome."

"I don't think we have time for that now," Azusa pointed out, "Maybe after we've got the tank back after the battle and scrubbed the dust off it, then you can have a go."

Oarai had disembarked from their carrier at about 0700, and proceeded through Port Headland to reach their blocks, in which the automotive club were now conducting a few last minute checks, whilst the other girls bustled about with shells and jerry cans to prepare their rides for the match. At the centre of this controlled chaos was Miho, accompanied by the student council, who were directing the girls if needed. All of the tanks had been redone in desert camouflage patterns, mostly just a basic dusty yellow, although Anteater team had gone for a two-tone pattern to help break their Chi-Nu up more. The usual team symbols had been preserved, although Hippo team had added a white palm tree to their glacis plate, whilst Rabbit team had a little red rat painted on the sponson housing.

"Miss Nishizumi, we've finished mounting the water on our tank," Sodoko reported, indicating a set of jerry cans mounted just behind the turret, nestled between the superstructure and the exhaust mounting. "It'll get hot out there, but there's not much space in the tank for storage."

"I understand," Miho replied. Not many of the tanks they had were very spacious at all, being either compact or pre-war designs. Anglerfish team had only avoided the same exigency by virtue of having a turret bin in which they could stow water. Looking across all of the tanks, she saw many of the teams slinging canteen where there would normally be entrenching tools or the like, stopping only as she spotted Turtle team's Hetzer. "Where have you stored yours?" she asked Anzu.

"Since we only have three crew in a four person tank, we had a seat spare to put it on," the president answered, "Leopon and Anteater teams have done the same in theirs."

"Good idea, it'll also stop it being hit by stray munitions."

Further down the line, Hippo team were getting themselves prepared for the coming battle in their usual idiosyncratic style. Caesar had augmented her outfit with a cap, red of course, with the letter SPQR in bold underneath a golden eagle. She had been tempted by a helmet, but the weight of it would have been uncomfortable for extended periods. Oryou had taken similar measures, somehow cramming her messy hair under a hat, although in this instance it was a German service cap borrowed from Erwin. Speaking of Erwin, she had switched uniform, choosing a DAK shirt and pants, paired with her usual hat. As for Saemonza, she had opted not to have a hat at all, instead retying her bandana in a manner that covered her head.

"The desert has long been Rome's enemy," added Caesar.

"But it is the domain of the desert fox," Erwin grinned. "The desert is a cruel mistress, and her gifts are few and far between, but this is so for the enemy too."

"And fortune favours the bold, does it not?" Hippo team's heads snapped round in sync to see who had uttered the phrase. Erwin arched her eyebrows in recognition.

"Hello Sam, I did not expect to see you here. Did you come with your school?"

Stepping in under the shade of the shed's roof, Pearce answered, "I came with four of my colleagues to watch the match. The rest I imagine are still in bed."

Looking at the three girls with Erwin, Pearce spotted that they were shooting him somewhat hostile gazes. Unsurprising, he mused, since the last he'd seen them had not been the most enjoyable encounters, and he'd been the source of some of their friend's unhappiness. Sam tried to recall their names, before clicking his fingers in recognition, gazing first at Saemonza.

"The six rings bandana, you must be Saemonza. The magistrate's sagum indicates Caesar, thus leaving Oryou as the bespectacled lady with the kimono over her shoulders. A pleasure to meet you."

Unsurprisingly, it was the rather hot-tempered Saemonza who replied first.

"Right, so what do you want? We've got a match in about fifteen minutes, so get to the point and go." Pearce's face fell a little at the hostile response.

"Well, I was hoping to wish Erwin good luck, as well as speak to Miss Nishizumi. I also wanted to make a fresh start with you girls. You're Erwin's friends after all, and I don't really want to fight with you, but if you don't want me around, I can understand that."

"You'll have to excuse us if we find your friendliness a little hard to believe," Caesar said. "Perhaps you could explain what has occasioned such a shift of alliances?" Pearce noticed Erwin had a quizzical look on her face at the question, but pressed on anyway.

"I'm sure Erwin has explained what my connection is with her, yes?" The Hippo team girls nodded. "Essentially, I found myself sufficiently lonely to think she had forgotten me, resulting in my apathy towards well, everyone. However, I have found a few friends to aid me in breaking that habit. Regardless, in our match against Pravda on Tuesday, the strategy that I adopted at one phase of the match was… ill-conceived, to say the least, and a few people nearly died."

Pearce winced, waiting for the collective outpouring of anger. When none came, he opened his eyes again, noting that the four girls were still stood there, regarding him with quizzical expressions.

"Go on," Oryou prompted. "We want to hear the full story."

"After the battle, I fled and sought solace to come to terms with what had happened. Miss Erwin found my location, as did Miss Akiyama, and she reassured me that I could still make right what I had done, and maybe even her friendship. And that is what I am endeavouring to do at the moment, by coming to see your team captain. Talking to Miss Erwin is just a fortuitous bonus."

"Hmm, it seems like you're a bit of an idiot, but we can put up with that," Saemonza said, offering a cheeky grin. Pearce raised an eyebrow in question at the statement.

"Erwin spilled everything on Wednesday evening," Oryou elaborated, "We just wanted to gauge your intentions for ourselves. A man's word is his honour after all." Wellesley's captain looked somewhat taken aback, looking to Erwin for help, but all the reki-jo did was offer a sheepish smile.

"And Saemonza called you an idiot because you were stupid enough to think Erwin would ever forsake someone she called friend," Caesar added. "Not even Marcus Julius Silanus made a mistake of that magnitude. But you get a second chance at least." The Romanist's expression grew dark. "And if you mess this one up, I've got a new spatha on the way that needs testing…." Caesar let the threat hang, even though it appeared to have little effect.

"As much as I appreciate the threat Miss Caesar, it is a little redundant. I'm fully committed to making things right, and hopefully I'll be able to turn this Arausio into a Magnesia." Pearce grinned, prompting Caesar to smile back.

"I'll hold you to that one Pearce."

"That's acceptable to me. Now if you ladies wouldn't mind, might I have a moment to speak to Miss Erwin?" The trio nodded, giving Sam and Erwin a bit of space to speak.

"I can see why you made friends with them," Pearce said, "They've got the sort of fire in them you have. It's a sad fact that I met them on such bad terms."

"True, but I think they might warm to you if you keep dropping all those references. Caesar's face practically lit up when you mentioned Magnesia," the blonde replied. "More to the point, it seems that you are being a lot more open that you were the last time we met."

"My friends at the academy made me realise that not only was I damaging my friendships with them, but I was hurting myself by being so distant. I'll admit, I'm still not comfortable with being so open to people, regardless of how well I can fake confidence, but I've only seen positive effects from being more welcoming to people so far."

Erwin smiled. "I think it's a big step forward for you, and I'm glad your friends made you make it." Frankly she was quite impressed that Pearce had elected to make such a big effort to rebuild those bridges that he had left only half-complete.

"Quite. I like to think it's one of those small steps I needed to make. Now, I think it's beyond time I let you get back to preparing. Good luck Riko-chan, go out there and show them why you got nicknamed Erwin."

Offering the reki-jo and her teammates a wave, Pearce wandered off down the line of tanks to find Miho, picking her out easily enough giving last minute instructions to her team.

"Miss Nishizumi," he greeted politely, inclining his head. Miho turned round at the sound of the voice, which was both familiar yet difficult to place.

"Ah, hello. Is there something I can help you with?" Miho asked.

"Not too much," Sam answered, "I won't delay you too long, I just wished to wish you good luck for the match today, and apologise for the comments I made when we first met. They were uncalled for, and unnecessarily harsh."

Miho paused for a second. She was never one to hold a grudge, even if what her counterpart had said had stung at the time. It could never be worse that some of the criticism her mother, or some of the more hardline elements at Kuromorimine had levelled at her before now. She nodded.

"It's no problem. I hope our schools can get to know one another better at some point," she said diplomatically. "And thank you for wishing us good luck. I hope we provide an entertaining match."

"I have no doubt about that. Also, if you wouldn't mind too much, please give my regards to Miss Akiyama. I shall not distract you further, and take my leave now. Good day, Miss Nishizumi," Pearce said, beginning to turn and leave the vehicle sheds.

"See you," Miho managed, her mind somewhat distracted by both the things she was trying to remember for the match, and trying to comprehend why the boy from Wellesley wanted her to pass on his regards to her loader. Shaking it off, she noticed the rest of the team beginning to gather around her. "Has everyone finished preparing their vehicles?"

"Everything is in order, commander," Momo reported.

"Then mount up! We need to be at the rally point in ten minutes," Miho ordered, watching the Oarai girls disperse before following her team to the Panzer IV, which was proudly sitting at the centre of the block, schurzen freshly repaired. She swiftly clambered aboard, joining Yukari and Hana in the turret. "Is everything good to go Hana?"

"Yes, everything is prepared," the refined gunner said.

"Yup, the radio's all primed," Saori added.

"Shells are all in racks, and in order," Yukari chirped.

"The engine's on," Mako deadpanned.

"Then we should we be on our way," Miho asserted. "All teams, follow Anglerfish team to the rally point and then stand down. Once we have finished there, we will proceed to our deployment location."

The grumbling of engines filled the air as the Panzer IV idled its way out of the sheds, growling onto the road that bisected the battlefield, followed by the seven other tanks of Oarai's team. Putting on a pair of sunshades, Miho could see heat haze beginning to rise from the tarmac ahead of her. It took the team about five minutes or so to clear Port Hedland, heading down the highway to meet with St Gloriana, the first drifts of burning sand beginning to stretch off into the horizon. It was not long before Miho spotted St Gloriana's tanks, which were lined up in two neat rows on one side of the road.

"Our suspicions were right," Yukari said, her head poked out of her hatch, "It looks like they brought a couple of Crusaders with them."

"They could have brought a pair of Centurions instead," Miho reminded Yukari, the mention of British tanks also bringing another thought to mind. "Oh, the captain of the Wellesley team wanted me to send you his regards by the way."

"He did?" Yukari was a little caught off guard for a second, before smiling a little. The moment was somewhat broken by Saori's interruption.

"Wait, what? Yukarin, are you seeing a boy?" Were she not driving, Mako might have pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. It seemed anything even tenuously related to romance or the other gender could not escape Saori's phenomenal hearing for such topics.

"It's not like that!" Yukari shouted back.

The entire conversation could have deteriorated further if not for their timely arrival at the rally point. Oarai brought their tanks to a halt in a loose formation opposite St Gloriana's and disembarked from their vehicles. Miho walked out into the centre of the road, picking out Darjeeling from her comrades, before offering her a friendly wave, receiving a similar gesture in return.

"Good morning Miho, are you well?" the faux-British girl asked.

"I am thank you, Darjeeling, how are you faring at the moment?" Miho returned the courtesy deftly, although there was a sense of earnestness behind the words of both captains. They were friends after all.

"Both myself and my team are doing fine thank you," Darjeeling replied, "We are quite eager to see how our match goes this time round. You impressed us greatly with your performance in the tournament last term, and have bolstered both your experience and fighting strength. I speak for St Gloriana as a whole when I say we welcome the challenge. For is not the ultimate measure of a man not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy?"

Pekoe, standing just behind and to the side of her superior, fought the urge to speak up as to where the quote was from.

"Challenges bring out the best in all of us," Miho agreed, "My team proved that last term, but we won't slack off just because our school was saved. We've been hoping for a rematch with St Gloriana since the moment you beat us in that friendly. Oarai has come a long way from the farcical rookie team you faced a few months back."

"I've no doubt you have," Darjeeling said, an almost fond tone entering into her voice. She noted the arrival of the three match officials, who had been waiting for the team captains to exchange pleasantries before they got the match underway. Seeing them step forward, Darjeeling extended a hand, which Miho took. "May the best woman win, and good luck to you."

"Good luck to you."

"We will now begin the match between Oarai Girls Academy, and St Gloriana Women's Academy. All participants bow."

**Chapter end**

**Omake Start**

Christopher Taylor was not a morning person, not by any stretch of the imagination. For him, morning was something that happened just before he went to bed, and if the clock said some time before midday, it was too early. So it was with some irritation that he answered the door at 1030 hours to find the familiar diminutive form of Pearce on his doorstep.

"Hey Sam, is there something ya need? Cos otherwise there's a quilt and mattress that are calling my name in a siren song." It was only belatedly that Chris took in the posture and demeanour of the boy in front of him – he almost seemed embarrassed, or worried.

"Actually, there is," Pearce said, somewhat tentatively, "I figured you might be the best person to talk to since you actually might know about this sort of thing."

"Right…"

Pearce shifted nervously again. "Well, how do you know if you like someone? As in, not in the purely friendly sense?"

The sleepy and lackadaisical demeanour drained out of Taylor in an instant, and a rather more conciliatory, caring look took over.

"Come in, and we'll have a chat."

**Omake End**

**There you have it! Another chapter slowly ground out. I'm sorry it took so long, as my pre-chapter note stated, I've been buried in university work as well as society related things, and sort of lost my writing drive at the same time. I've made a pretty monumental effort in the last few days to get this chapter sorted and ready for upload. As per standard, I owe a lot of that drive to some of my friends, including Mr LWKilroy (whose collab work with me, and all of his other epic stuff, can be found on Deviantart under his profile KilroyLW).**

**I make no promises regarding the next chapter's release. Hopefully the short break between exams and me returning home might offer me some time for the next chapter to be written, but I am just monumentally busy. All I can offer is a promise I will finish this story one day.**

**As per usual, feel free to leave reviews or PM me if you have any questions on comments on this story. I always appreciate feedback, and a good discussion usually generates some ideas in my head.**

**Until next time.**


	24. Chapter 24: A Desert Fox

**Hey guys and gals, I'm back for another instalment of Open Warfare. I don't really have much to tell you, since you already know I'm a busy guy, but there are a couple of things that stand out, firstly the new cover art (sketched by yours truly) and that I'm contemplating a master's degree. Everything else is business as usual.**

**As for the guest reviewer who asked 'will there be pairings?', I will simply refer you to the story description at the top of the page. TL;DR Probably no pairings, and certainly no in-depth romance. There's only one canon pairing in this story – Yukari x Panzer.**

**Just to clarify, with regard to pairings, I don't think you'd see any of the canon characters with any of my OCs really. Quite simply, they don't have enough contact with each other – they see each other at matches, which is not enough time to build a relationship. If anything, it would be likely my OC characters ended up with each other, since they spend a lot of time in each other's company on their academy ships.**

**Anyway, that's enough silliness for now – to battle!**

**Friday the 14****th**** February – Port Headland – 0800hrs**

"Would anyone else perchance like a cup of tea? I believe the match is about to start, so I would get a drink now if you want one."

"I have no idea how you can want a hot drink in this weather," Angela replied, staring incredulously at Pearce, who had helped himself to a cup of tea, made using the boiling vessel of their transport, a rugged FV432, which had been landed with them from one of the academy's Atlas transports.

"Tea, Miss Clark, as I'm sure St Gloriana will readily attest, is the cornerstone of civilisation. As such, it is appropriate for all weathers."

"Like our uniforms?" Clark asked sarcastically, indicating the lighter desert pattern kit they'd all adopted for the match.

"One is a beverage, the other a set of clothing. Their comparability is somewhat moot. Our taste in drinks aside, are our chairs set up?"

"Indeed, I had Andrew do it for us while you were off talking to your friend." The pair ducked back out of the APC to re-join their compatriots, of which there were only four. However, given the early nature of their departure, it was somewhat understandable, and had left more room for commodities in their transport.

"Hey, if you two are done having a moment, they've nearly reached their deployment zones," Chris shouted from his seat, a deckchair that was almost fully reclined. Six similar chairs were laid out on a bluff just away from the main stands, which although not massive, were packed. Completing the ensemble were a couple of large beach umbrellas, providing shade for the entire party, and a cooler.

"What's the field looking like?" Angela asked, parking herself on one of the deckchairs, to the left of Anna, who had opted to come with them.

"Sandy," Andrew replied cheekily.

"What a brilliant observation. Maybe you'd like to tell me that it's warm today next?" was the caustic response.

"It's warm today," Chloe replied flatly, already sipping coke from her chair at the end of the line. She'd elected to accompany her five colleagues to the match, partly because she wanted to see St Gloriana in action, but also as a sign of solidarity, if not comradeship with her commander. She'd probably never like Pearce, but she would not let past grievances mar their professional relationship.

"Whatever," Clark replied, taking a seat in the middle of their chair line.

The last member of the Wellesley party was Will, brother of Liam and loader of Marlborough team. Much akin to his brother in loving literature, but radically different in their preferred climates, Will had decided to come and watch the match because he far preferred warmer climes to the sometimes nippy spring weather they'd had while sailing round Japan, a chance he was willing to sacrifice a full night's sleep for. Presently, his nose was deep in a copy of _The Count of Monte Christo_ by Alexandre Dumas, although he occasionally looked up to check if the match had started or not.

"I'm not going to put a bet on the match this time," Chris said , "I reckon this one is pretty close in odds."

"Oarai has recent success, team élan and a superb commander to back them up," Pearce stated, "But St Gloriana has a veteran commander of no small talent herself, as well as discipline and numbers."

"Aye, I had a look at how they've performed over the last few tournaments the other evening," Andrew interjected, "A lot of people are betting on Oarai because they won last term, but you can't ignore consistency – St Gloriana has achieved a lot with the tanks it has, and for a very long time. And without their school being threatened with closure now, will Oarai keep their momentum up?"

Seeing the two teams reaching their deployment zones, the chatter between the Wellesley students died down, as they turned their heads to the all-important opening moves of the battle. A few other observers, both near and far, did so too.

One such observer was Shiho Nishizumi. Sat in her office at the Tankery League's headquarters, a second monitor gave her a live feed of the event. Normally she would only keep abreast of her youngest's activities after the fact, but not this time.

**Oarai Deployment Zone – 0810hrs**

"All systems are operational commander," Yukari reported to Miho, sticking her head out of her escape hatch to address her commander, having received affirmations from her colleagues. Miho nodded absently, gazing out over the expanse of sand, a monochrome landscape punctuated by the rise and fall of dunes.

Miho had to admit, she was a little out of her comfort zone in this environment. She'd never competed in a desert setting, nor really had much tuition in desert operations from her mother or any of her subordinates in the Nishizumi School. But she wouldn't back down from the challenge. Miho resolved to do her school proud, and prove that her style of tankery was valid, even if her mother would not accept it.

"Nishizumi, have you got anything to say to the team?" Momo radioed over to the Panzer IV, which was waiting in line with its fellows.

"Yes," Miho replied, clipping the throat-mic between her fingers, before addressing her teammates. "We've all come a long way since our last match with St Gloriana. We've gained new comrades, and made new friends. But today, we need to prove that. We might know that our team is far stronger, but St Gloriana doesn't. They know we won last term, but that's it. We need to prove to them that we aren't the same rookies, and prove that the respect they gave us as opponents and friends was not misplaced. So let's do our best, and give them a good match."

"Understood, commander," Momo replied, setting off a raucous clamour of affirmations from the other teams.

"Let's go Duck Team!" Noriko hollered.

"Vorwarts, kameraden!" Erwin added.

"Anteater team, ready to guard the flag," Nekota confirmed, the little blue pennant denoting the flag tank firmly displayed on their Chi-Nu. Miho had decided, based on advice from Leopon team, to out the flag on the far more reliable Chi-Nu than the Porsche Tiger, given that the latter was temperamental in favourable conditions, never mind in adverse ones. Oarai didn't really want to be taken out of the tournament by engine unreliability of all things.

The radio crackling to life with a signal cutting in put the crews back on alert.

"All teams have reached their deployment positions. The match is now ready to start. All participants bow."

"Let's have a good match!"

"Match, start!"

**St Gloriana Deployment Zone – 0810hrs**

"Would you care for a refill ma'am?" Pekoe asked, offering her hand to Darjeeling to take her cup from her.

"No thank you Pekoe," Darjeeling replied, looking down from her usual position on the Churchill's roof to her subordinate, "I think it might be wise to stow the kettle for the duration of this match now."

The redhead nearly dropped the aforementioned kettle at the response, before looking up in astonishment at Darjeeling. The blonde's serene smile was almost threatening to become a grin at the amusing sense of confusion Pekoe was radiating.

"Whilst I cannot deny that I would love to have a cup of tea during the match, boiling the kettle is an egregious waste of water in these conditions. I think we can survive one match without tea," Darjeeling said, before draining her own cup.

"Of course commander," Pekoe responded, "Would you like me to inform the other teams of this as well?"

"If you would be so kind Pekoe. I take it all the teams are prepared and functional?"

"Indeed. Both Rosehip and Sencha have reported that the filters on the Crusaders are in pristine condition too, so breakdown shouldn't be an issue this match."

"Perfect." Pekoe ducked back into the Churchill, obviously relaying Darjeeling's instruction to Matcha, their radio operator, before she popped back out of the hatch once more.

"Tell me Pekoe, what do you think our odds are?" Pekoe hesitated for a second.

"I think we have a chance, commander, but perhaps not the best one," The redhead replied, shifting a little uneasily. Having watched all of Oarai's matches in person last term, she couldn't help but feel a little apprehensive at taking on the team that took down all of the big competitors.

"Perhaps, but why fret?" Darjeeling asked. "We do tankery to become more ladylike and to have fun. If the price for this is victory, is it not one worth paying? As long as we give our full effort, what does it matter if we win or lose? There is no dishonour in losing to a stronger adversary if you have given it your all."

Pekoe faltered for a second. Was Darjeeling admitting defeat before the match had started? It was unthinkable that her elegant and composed commander should harbour such thoughts. "Are you saying we should just accept defeat?" she questioned quietly.

"Of course not," Darjeeling favoured her subordinate with her usual serene smile. "We accept defeat only when it has come to us, never beforehand. We give our utmost effort to win, and only when those efforts are frustrated, do we offer a congratulatory hand to the victor. No battle is ever set in stone, and to admit defeat before actually suffering one is in itself self-defeating."

"So we can win?"

"Rest assured my dear, while we do not possess the brute strength of Kuromorimine or the sheer enthusiasm of Saunders, we make up for that with commitment, training and cohesion. We can win this battle, and I will do my best to ensure that we do. Do you trust me, Pekoe?"

"Of course, Miss Darjeeling!" Pekoe said vehemently, almost as if it was an offence to doubt that fact. Darjeeling was more than a little touched by the loyalty.

"Then I'll make sure not to disappoint you. I may not be a strategist on par with Maho Nishizumi, but I am not too humble to think I am a deficient commander. Now, my dear, shall we?" Darjeeling indicated the hatch with a motion, before clambering into her commander's seat.

"I heard some of your little monologue, Miss Darjeeling," Assam said from next to her. "Very inspiring."

"Thank you Assam. Although I'm of the opinion we should back those words up with action."

"Indeed."

The wireless set of the Churchill chose that moment to spring to life, Matcha immediately springing to her task in making the signal clearer.

"All teams have reached their deployment positions. The match is now ready to start. All participants bow."

In perfect synchrony, several dozen girls inclined their heads and intoned the familiar saying.

"Let's have a good match!"

"Match, start!"

A clatter of treads and a cloud of dust followed the announcement. With nary a command issued, St Gloriana's crews got their tasks with efficiency, all of the girls knowing their roles by rote. The two Crusaders sprinted off into the distance with commendable haste, grinding sand beneath their treads as they left the lumbering infantry tanks behind. As they did so, the Matildas and Churchill formed into two echelons, one sweeping towards the left flank, the other, led by Darjeeling, moving towards the right in a column formation.

"Ceylon, Rosehip, do you copy?" Darjeeling radioed.

"Scout element here, commander," Rosehip replied.

"2 Company here, commander," Ceylon answered.

"Superb. You have your orders; kindly keep 1 Company posted on your situations ladies, and remain vigilant. I doubt Miho will be quite as forceful and straight-forward as our usual rivals, so be prepared."

"Understood, commander."

**With Oarai – 0830hrs**

Oarai had left their deployment area in a similarly efficient manner, concentrating six of their tanks into a centre force under Miho, whilst Hippo and Turtle teams covered the right and left flanks respectively. It had taken little time for the two assault guns to vanish into the rolling dunes with their low profiles and effective camouflage, leaving Oarai with six tanks as their main force. Miho had deployed these in a staggered double line, leaving the vehicles with room to manoeuvre and maximum fire lanes.

"Miss Nishizumi, what's our play from here?" Yukari inquired, squinting as she leaned out of the hatch into the sun's glare.

"We're going to try and take the high ground on our side of the road. The ridge will give us a good view to scout out St Gloriana's movements, so we can formulate a strategy from then onwards. If my suspicions are correct, St Gloriana will probably try and do something similar, since they're always very conservative in their tactics."

"It is true, they've always been adherents to the 'old school' style of tankery. You can even see it in their tanks – I don't think they've added anything new to their armoury for at least as long as I've been at Oarai. I'm pretty sure even Darjeeling's Churchill has seen at least eight years of service by now, some of the Matildas probably even longer."

"Hmm," Miho responded in affirmation. She wondered; would St Gloriana have been as dominant as Pravda or Kuromorimine if they'd had newer tanks? If they'd had Comets and even Centurions, would St Gloriana be a contender? She supposed that went for many of the teams in the tournament, since outside of Saunders, Pravda and Kuromorimine, it seemed like none of the Japanese schools possessed anything like the budget required to field a technically competitive team, even more so given tankery's previously declining popularity. Perhaps with the renewed interest this tournament and the previous one were generating in the public they would see a bit more competition restored to the sport.

Elsewhere in Oarai's line, Rabbit team were… a little more grounded in their concerns. Although the M3 was possibly the most dependable of Oarai's tanks, up there with the Panzer IV and the StuG, the first years inside were a little less rugged.

"Yuuki, can you open the side hatch? It's really hot in here," Ayumi complained.

"Sorry Ayumi, but no can do," the radio operator said, "If we open it we risk letting sand into the fighting compartment and that can start to cause mechanical problems, according to Leopon team."

Observing her friends from the commander's position, Azusa couldn't help but nod appreciatively. It seemed tankery was helping them mature, at least a little bit anyway, as she doubted they would have resisted the temptation to open all the hatches when they first started.

"At least in this heat you can think of it like a sauna," Aya suggested, "We might all sweat off a little bit of weight. And if that doesn't cheer you up, just think of the nice cool shower we can get once we're all back on the ship."

"I could go for that now, never mind later," Ayumi said.

"Karina, do you need some water?" Yuuki asked. "You're looking like you're working hard there."

This was quite the understatement. Even though the Lee's controls were quite easy and comfortable to operate, Karina was still being quite heavily taxed by the drive even this early on, due to her stature and relative lack of strength compared to a grown man. The heat merely exacerbated this, and Yuuki could see beads of sweat forming under the driver's messy hair.

"Yes please," Karina huffed, "That'd be great."

Yuuki plucked Karina's canteen out from beside her and uncorked it, holding it carefully to Karina's lips to let the driver gulp down a few swigs of tepid water. Karina almost blanched at the strong metallic taste, but it was better than going without.

Similar tales were playing themselves out throughout Oarai's forces, as the negative effects of being in a confined metal box underneath the blazing sun made themselves known. Anteater team were perhaps feeling it the most, the relatively shy girls being used to the frosty air-conditioning of their homes and internet cafes.

"Roll 20 for fatigue," Momoga groaned, shifting the controls with sweaty palms as the Chi-Nu grumbled across the desert.

"Crit fail," Piyotan replied, reaching for her flask.

It was fortunate that the extra space in the Chi-Nu was being used for a lot of water.

"Miporin, aside from the friendly last term, have you ever come up against St Gloriana?" Saori asked, gazing back through the Panzer's hull at her commander.

"Actually, I don't think I have," Miho said, racking her memories of previous tournaments for encounters with the faux-Brit girls. "I think they ended up against Pravda or Saunders quite a bit, and the technical gap between them must have cost them in those matches. I don't think Darjeeling was in charge the year before either, I'm pretty sure it was her predecessor, Earl Grey."

"Yeah, it was," Yukari chipped in, "They had a Cromwell a couple of years ago, but it had only just been refitted and ended up being retired again with mechanical issues. That's why Darjeeling uses the Churchill as a command tank."

"So what do we know about Darjeeling's command style?" Saori said.

"She easily fits the mould of her predecessors," Yukari replied, "Calm, incisive but uninspiring command. It is not easy to make her make rash decisions, but Darjeeling doesn't seem very spontaneous, if the matches I've seen are anything to go by."

The brunette to her left frowned. While Yukari had a good grasp of field tactics, having watched numerous matches and read innumerable reports, it seemed like she was selling St G's commander a bit short. After meeting Darjeeling in person several times, Miho knew that her counterpart was a shrewd and intelligent person, certainly more than able to be a good commander in the field. Either way, she wouldn't underestimate the blonde.

"Hmm, are we talking about the same girl?" Saori questioned, giving a quizzical look to Yukari, "She might be a bit straight-laced because of her school, but I thought she was really smart. That's why she's their commander, right?"

"Yeah, they stopped doing promotion by seniority before the millennium," the loader replied, "They had a spell where their commanders were really mediocre. The final straw was when they lost to Maginot in the first round. I think the old commander chooses the next captain now, which can lead to a bit of cronyism, but St Gloriana have certainly been doing better since."

"I wonder who Darjeeling has lined up to replace her?" Hana added in. "Maybe Miss Pekoe?"

"I think that's a pretty good bet," Yukari said.

Leaving her crew to talk, Miho popped open the hatch, donning her sunglasses as she did so, before drawing up her binoculars to scan the ground. A full sweep of the surrounds gave no sign of the enemy, not that she was expecting them, but as she stared over the horizon towards the St Gloriana deployment area, Miho could see the rising of dust into the air. Their opponents were on the move.

On the flank, Hippo team observed the same phenomenon through their periscopes, the StuG parked just behind the lip of a tall dune. Erwin grinned at Caesar.

"It seems our opponent is determined to get to grips with us."

"Then we'll kick them up the toga and give them something to think about."

Taking this as her cue to move, Oryou manoeuvred the SPG off the dune and further into the shifting sands. Next to her, Saemonza had her arms folded in impatience, an incessant fidgeting suggesting that she was itching to open fire.

**0850hrs**

Oarai's advance continued apace as their steeds tirelessly ate up the dusty ground. Eyeing the hill she wanted to secure, Miho ordered the main echelon to maintain their advance, hoping to claim the strategic point before St Gloriana could make too much of an advance with their lumbering Matildas. Sat up in the turret basket, careful not to touch the now quite warm metalwork, the youngest Nishizumi felt a bit tentative. The dust cloud they'd seen at the start of the match had by this point dissipated, and thus far, they'd had no further sign of their opponents. It would pay to be cautious.

"Rabbit team, Duck team, I want you to scout round the flanks of the hill whilst we approach it, and prepare to flank St Gloriana if they have occupied it before us."

It was a precautionary move, since St Gloriana's Matildas were highly unlikely to have made it anywhere near this distance by this time in the match, but Miho was making no assumptions. There was always the possibility that the Crusaders were lurking around this area as well, as the manoeuvrable cruiser tanks were far faster than their infantry tank counterparts.

Reaching the foot of the hill, Miho radioed Leopon team to take point, with Anteater team in behind them, the smaller Chi-Nu using the Porsche Tiger as cover as the latter ground slowly up the slope, its 50-odd ton bulk weighing it down. Cautiously flanking these were Mallard and Anglerfish teams, whilst Duck and Rabbit teams clung to the bottom of the slope, their captains ever watchful for enemy activity.

However, it was not from the sides that the enemy was to strike. When the Porsche Tiger had painstakingly climbed halfway up the hill, a rumble, followed by a cloud of dust preceded the attack. Blitzing straight over the crest of the hill, and into the centre of their dense formation, two Crusader tanks caught Oarai almost off guard. Fortunately, the first shots from their two-pounder guns pattered harmlessly off the Porsche Tiger's thick front plates, with BESA machine gun fire drumming a raucous beat off Leopon's armour.

"Close up formation around Anteater team and don't panic," Miho ordered swiftly, using what Yukari thought of as her 'command voice'. "Rabbit team, Duck team, be advised that the enemy may try and attack you in the rear. Continue to circle round the hill and then meet up on the other side."

"Roger," Noriko responded. "Akebi, rotate our turret."

"What good's that gonna do?" Duck team's gunner said, knowing full well the anaemic nature of their tank's cannon.

"Just do it!"

On the other side of the hill, Rabbit team had a similar idea, turning their 37mm turret to face behind them. Fortunately they still had the sponson 75mm if something attacked them from the front.

Back with the main force, the Crusaders continued to weave about and nip at Oarai's heels with sporadic fire. Thus far, the exchange of fire between the two groups had had little result, although Oarai's advance had continued unabated, the Porsche Tiger still slowly grinding up the hill. Staring through her periscope, Rosehip gritted her teeth as they came round for another pass at the melange of tanks.

"Miss Darjeeling wants us to stop them from gaining the hilltop, but we've not got enough firepower to stop them." She radioed the other Crusader, which was exchanging fire with Mallard team. "Sencha, loop round the rear and aim for the flag tank. We might not be able to take it out, but we might be able to force them to slow down in order to defend it better."

"Understood, Miss Rosehip."

Throwing the Crusader into a skid, the loose sand giving way before the heavy treads, Sencha's Crusader approached Mallard team, laying heavy fire down upon the B1 Bis, whose large bulk made it an easy target. With only their 47mm to return fire with, and only crew member to load and fire it, the Bis was, ironically, a sitting duck.

Back in the Panzer IV, Miho could see Yukari was deep in thought as she loaded shells intermittently for Hana, the loader murmuring something under her breath.

"Yukari, is something the matter?"

The target of the statement almost dropped the shell she was holding, she was so surprised, before shaking her head vigorously.

"No, I was just doing some calculations, and I think we're quite lucky that it seems our opponents aren't carrying APCBC (armour piercing core, ballistic cap) ammunition, and that those are Crusader mkIIs, not mkIIIs."

Processing what Yukari was saying, Miho did notice what she was trying to say – the Crusaders had hit several of Oarai's tanks more than once, but they'd yet to suffer more than a few dents in the armour plate.

"Oh yeah, they have the two-pounders from the early Crusaders, not the six-pounders they put on later marks. But what were you saying about ammunition?"

"They only appear to be firing normal AP shells – which will do nothing, since the damage profile is at best 49mm penetration within 100 yards. The only places they could take out a tank would be…"

"Behind us," Miho finished, getting a nod from the loader, "Hana, traverse our turret and aim for the rear. We can't afford to be taken out of this game yet. Anteater team, aim your turret to the rear of your tank, it's the main vulnerable point that they might exploit."

The whir of the internal motors, followed by a steady sense of counter-clockwise motion, confirmed that Hana was moving the Kwk 40 to watch Anglerfish team's six. This left Leopon and Mallard to cover the flanks, and track the two Crusaders as they circled the slow moving group. Shells flew back and forth, kicking up plumes of dust and sand as they ploughed into the ground.

**The Stands**

"There's a lot of direct hits coming from those St Gloriana Crusaders," Will commented, his book now marked and by his side. "Quite commendable gunnery, I should say."

"But they don't seem to be taking out any tanks," said Andrew.

"That's because the two-pounder gun doesn't muster the muzzle velocity necessary to break through the armour of Oarai's tanks," Anna spoke up, her glasses glinting in the bright sunlight. "The shell is neither large enough nor fast enough to generate sufficient force to smash through the armour plate, with either explosive or kinetic power."

"Quite the interesting turnaround," Andrew said, "The last time these teams faced each other it was Oarai's guns that could do nothing against St Gloriana's armour."

The other two looked at him a little incredulously.

"What? A guy can have multiple hobbies."

**Oarai's left flank**

While the Oarai centre dealt with the enemies nipping at their heels, Hippo team were pondering a conundrum of their own. Their tank left just behind the ridge of a major dune, Caesar and Erwin had dismounted to scope out their surroundings from the crest. What they were seeing gave them pause for thought. Rather than a straight thrust towards them, as they would have expected St Gloriana to try, the pair watched as a column of Matildas slowly changed their heading, putting them on a bearing to hit the hill their friends were currently struggling to capture.

"What do we do about this?"

"We alert our comrades for a start. See what Miho says, and then we might see some action."

"True. Let's move."

Carefully picking themselves up so as to not give their position away, the two reki-jo headed to their ride, where Oryou and Saemonza had hopped out of the sweltering confines of the StuG for a moment to enjoy the slight breeze wafting in off the coast. Spotting the two approach, Saemonza made a motion with her head.

"What is it? Trouble?"

"Not for us," Caesar replied, "But our allies will find themselves outflanked if we do not alert them soon."

"I'll bet they're trying the same on other flank – nobody has reported sighting the other four Matildas yet," Erwin said, following her teammates into the hatch of their vehicle, before clasping the radio. "Commandant, this is Hippo team. We've sighted a quartet of Matilda mkIIs heading towards your position, south-west of your current locale, about five miles or so out."

"Acknowledged, Hippo team. Do you think you could delay them a bit?" Miho's voice crackled over the radio, causing all of the reki-jo to smirk.

"Commandant, we won't just delay them, we'll destroy them."

"Just be careful, Hippo team."

"Jawohl."

While they could hear Miho speaking to Turtle team in the background, the four girls looked at each other, before looking at their in-battle commander.

"What are your orders, Erwin?"

"Let's give them a pummelling. Oryou, we're faster than them, even when they're on roads, so roll us parallel to their line of advance, keeping behind the dunes. We'll hit them hard and fast, and force them to either chase us or keep getting shot at. Our frontal and side armour is also immune to their guns so in a standup fight, we can take them."

"If we can pull it off, it'll be a regular Tsushima," Saemonza grinned.

"Maybe even like Myeongnyang," Oryou chirped, already pulling at the controls to get them on their way.

"Then let us spring to our duty," Caesar added in.

The StuG rolled off from its concealed position at speed, prowling after its quarry with deadly intent. Hugging close to the opposite side of the dunes parallel to their opponents' advance, the rugged vehicle churned up sand as the four reki-jo took to their task with purpose.

On the other side of the dune, 2 Company was equally filled with purpose, their lumbering infantry tanks grinding through the dust and heat to complete their flanking attack on their opponents. Ceylon, in the lead Matilda, was watching the exchange between the Crusaders and Oarai's main force with interest through some binoculars, the tiny dots in the distance occasionally obscured by flashes and plumes of smoke from shell discharges.

"Hopefully Rosehip can keep them busy long enough that we can roll up their flanks," Ceylon muttered, "Otherwise, it's gonna be a hard slog."

She continued watching the road in front of her tank until her radio blared to life, with a communication from one of her subordinates.

"Miss Ceylon, tank 6 has detected some motion to our 2'o'clock. Not much, but it might be our opponents. Your orders?"

The brunette frowned deeply. The choice was clear, if dangerous. They could not afford to chase potential threats and abandon Darjeeling's plan. They would press on. Repeating such to her subordinate tanks, Ceylon trained her binoculars towards the approximate location of the reported movement. She could see little, merely the normal rolling dunes, and… that was a harsh shape for a dune. Wait, that was a–

"Fire!"

The first shot hammered home with precision , nailing the lead Matilda, and leaving Ceylon slouched over her cupola, in more than a little bit of pain from the force. The little white flag confirmed what the black plume of smoke from the tank's engine already said. First blood had been drawn.

"Damn it!" she shouted in frustration. "This is tank 5, we're out of it."

"We got 'em!" Saemonza hollered, giving her partners in crime a high-five.

"Sterling work!" Caesar exclaimed. "The gods favour the side of the stronger!"

While Hippo team celebrated their success, the three Matildas behind the lead tank wasted no time in manoeuvring around their stricken ally, their turrets grinding into position to return fire at the StuG. A fusillade of 2 pounder fire whistled past the boxy little assault gun, showering the tank in sand. Undeterred, Saemonza fired again, clattering a shell off the thick front plate of a Matilda. With the infantry tanks closing fast, Erwin again took the helm.

"We'll get one more shot and then retreat. Oryou, prepare for when Saemonza has fired. Take us back down the other side of this dune and then continue forwards. I doubt they'll follow us, and we'll be at a range where we can't be damaged anyway."

"Got it."

With another 75mm round bouncing off the front plate of the closing Matildas, the StuG hightailed it out of there, leaving the lumbering infantry tanks without a target. With nary an order given, the St Gloriana vehicles reformed their line, all three commanders now standing up in the turret basket to give them warning if, or rather when, their foe would return. Now fully alert, the British tanks rolled on towards their objective, wary of an elusive opponent.

**0940hrs**

Back in the centre, Miho's main force was faring somewhat better. Having circled round the hill and ascended the opposite slope, Rabbit and Duck teams lent their fire to those of the other four tanks, succeeding in driving the Crusaders off. The Cruiser tanks abandoned their offensive as the fire thickened, fleeing into the sands in order to avoid being picked off. However, a parting shot from the St Gloriana girls forced Duck team out of the battle, the frontal armour of their tank far too thin to resist even the two-pounder gun.

"We've been taken out," Noriko reported, "Not even guts can make up for a lack of armour."

"Are you all okay over there?" Miho asked.

"We're fine," The Ducks responded, popping open all the hatches on their tank and taking on water. "A bit annoyed, but fine." Noriko sounded quite irritable in her last statement. It was the first time the Ducks had been the first team taken out after all, and the Volleyball club were not looking forward to having to wait on the sidelines, even if it got them out of the sweatbox that was their tank.

"They sure are a competitive lot," Hana smiled.

"Too energetic though," Mako answered. "Good grief, they tire me out just watching them during practice."

"Maybe you should join them for practice," Hana suggested politely, "It'd certainly help your blood flow."

"No!" Saori interjected, with a hint of urgency in her voice. "I've seen how they practice. Those girls are crazy in their training regime, we wouldn't last ten minutes! If you think they're energetic now, when they get on the court they're really scary."

Whilst Saori tried to dissuade her fellow crewmates from death by volleyball, Miho was busy observing their position on foot, accompanied by Yukari. They'd drawn up their now five tank force in two lines facing in opposite directions, with a sheer cliff face covering one flank, and a steep slope covering the other. At the sheer face, Miho knelt near the edge and pulled out her binoculars. Surveying the terrain, she could pick out where the enemy's right flank was with relative ease, a number of flashes and plumes of displaced sand indicating where Hippo team was harassing the three Matildas, slowing the column's progress to a crawl even as they tried to ignore the assault gun's attack. That was good, it bought her some more time to ponder their strategy, as well as bring Turtle team back into play. With the surrounds looking relatively clear, Miho clipped her throat mic.

"All teams, stand down for now. If some of you want fresh air, get it, but keep at least half of the crew inside your tanks in case the enemy strikes us unexpectedly. It's unlikely, but it's better to be prepared."

A clatter of hatches told Miho all she needed to know as her team vented their tanks, which had become unreasonably hot and uncomfortable. Having operated them for nearly two hours, she couldn't begin to empathise with the soldiers who'd had to fight for days at a time in those machines, sometimes in even worse conditions. Fortunately for the girls currently fighting, there were no sandstorms expected, as that would have made the match far more uncomfortable than it already was, as well as complicating the battle's dynamics.

As she paced round the ridge, Miho observed their position. Defensible, certainly, although any exit against an attacking force would likely be through the enemy line, a risky manoeuvre, although one they'd managed before. But with good lines of view in every direction, and the advantage of ranged firepower that they possessed, it was entirely likely that they could hold this against St Gloriana, and break out if necessary. The only issue there would be that in the flight, they'd need to deal with the Crusader tanks in order to outpace the slower Matildas.

"Miss Nishizumi! I can see the rest of St Gloriana's force!" Yukari shouted, knelt on the steep eastern face of the hill. "Three Matildas and a Churchill, that must be Darjeeling's group!"

Miho jogged over to Yukari and brought up her own binoculars again. Squinting in the bright light, even through the lenses, she spotted what her loader had hollered about, a force of British tanks approaching from the east. Panning across, she could also see the Crusaders, lurking across another dune from them, flanking their slower allies. Evidently, with the force to Oarai's west, they'd been intending to pincer the Oarai girls as they tried to fight off the Crusader tanks and climb the hill.

Miho continued to watch the British tanks advance on their position for a short while until she noticed a shape against the landscape, hard to make out due to its camouflage and low profile – Turtle team's Hetzer, which was making its way back towards friendly lines.

"Yukari, go and tell Saori to get Turtle team on the radio. Warn them from moving too far to the south of their current position. Now, please."

"Got it!" Yukari sprinted off, rushing towards the Panzer IV at top speed. Miho cursed leaving her tank to observe the terrain closely. She was too separated from the comms system, and now she was forced to watch as her teammates paid the price.

A break in the dunes gave Turtle team their first glimpse of the enemy for the entire battle thus far. Spying St Gloriana's Crusaders, the Hetzer rolled to a halt and took aim, before the Pak 39's roaring cadence filled the air with fire and steel. A narrow miss on Sencha's tank alerted the two Cruisers that they were under fire, and they swooped round to engage, although as they turned, Anzu placed her shot correctly. Sencha's tank rolled to a halt, smoke billowing off, and white flag raised. However, as Turtle team took out their ally, Rosehip's crew had manoeuvred out of the tank destroyer's arc of fire, and now accelerated round Turtle team's flank, firing as they went. Although the Hetzer rotated on the spot to try and reacquire their target, it was too slow, and as shells ricocheted off the sloped armour, the Turtles knew they were done for.

"That warning came just a tad late," Anzu radioed, "And we're in a bit of a pickle here."

Eventually, the inevitable happened, and the Crusader managed to get a good angle on the Hetzer's paper thin rear armour, sending a two-pounder shell straight through it, and putting the plucky little TD out of commission. Miho grimaced as she watched it through her binoculars. At least they got one of the opposition's tanks in the process.

"We've been taken out," Anzu reported.

Two tanks for two thus far, not a bad exchange if the numbers were even. Unfortunately they weren't and Oarai's force now stood at six tanks to St Gloriana's eight. Further exchanges like this had to be avoided, lest attrition whittle away their fighting power.

**St Gloriana Left Flank – 1010hrs**

A similar thought was running through Miho's counterpart as she observed the position she would have to assault. Down two vital tanks, it would be that much harder to take the hill, especially with the element of surprise lost. There was however, still an opening to exploit.

"Jasmine, take your tank, tank 3 and tank 4 to attack the north face of the hill. Press them, but remain at long range so they can't breach your armour. Rosehip, you will assault the south face of the hill. I have a plan for how to break them."

"Understood, Miss Darjeeling."

"2 Company, what is your current position, and can give you give me an ETA on your arrival?"

"Miss Darjeeling, we're currently under fire from one of their assault guns, about 2 miles out from our objective. We've had to slow to a crawl to defend ourselves, but they keep attacking and then disappearing when we try to retaliate."

The blonde pondered her options for a moment. Leaving a rearguard would just see the sacrifice of another tank for little gain, especially when the StuG was faster than the Matildas.

"Try and increase your speed so that if you reach us you can support our attack, but be careful above all. The enlightened ruler is heedful and the great general full of caution."

"Affirmative," came the reply.

"The Art of War, Miss Darjeeling?" Pekoe asked.

"Spot on, Pekoe," Darjeeling said, smiling at her subordinate. "Sun Tzu was a wise man, and his aphorisms on the art of strategy work as well in every competitive aspect as they do in actual combat. Let us put his lessons to good use. Though we may be outgunned, we will offer Oarai a fight they will remember. All units, begin our assault. We will show them our mettle now."

Approaching the hill from the steepest side, denying Oarai's tanks a good angle, the St Gloriana girls spread their forces out in good order and began to advance. A furious barrage of fire rained down from the Oarai line on top of the hill, kicking up a great deal of dust and sand, obscuring vision with rising clouds of fine grains. A desultory return fire from the Matilda tanks on the north face of the hill achieved much the same, and the two forces exchanged rounds to little effect, the slope and range making a damaging hit all the harder to achieve.

**Hippo Team – 1010hrs**

Hippo team's job had been made far harder once they lost the element of surprise. Although they had an advantage over the Matildas in almost every aspect, they still had to be wary of being damaged, especially losing a track, which would have been devastating for the assault gun. As a result, the reki-jo were playing it safe, taking shots and then retreating, as they had done for nearly the last half an hour. The net result – the enemy slowed to a crawl, no losses, and half their shot locker exhausted. The StuG girls needed a new strategy.

"They just won't fall out of line," Caesar growled, "Crassus would have been so lucky with his legionaries at Carrhae had they done the same. Whatever we're doing, it isn't working." She slammed another shell into the StuK40's receiver almost as if to punctuate the sentence.

"I think we need to reposition," Erwin opined, "They're obviously still trying to reach our kameraden on the hill, so we should get behind them and hit them in the rear armour where it will cause the most damage."

"They'll proceed at a faster pace," Caesar said, "But we will be able to take more out."

"No military leader has ever become great without audacity," Oryou stated, preparing pre-emptively to shift the assault gun's position once more.

"Let's do it then! I want to add some more kill markers to our tank," Saemonza added in.

"Verstanden, we're moving then. Oryou, get us behind those Matildas, say 400 yards out and follow them. We'll stop, give Saemonza time to aim and then close again. I guarantee we'll get more than one of them."

"Got it," Oryou replied, rolling the StuG back from its position and down the adjacent gully between the dunes. When she knew that they were past the Matildas, she brought the tank up and over the crest of the dune, crashing down behind the trio of St Gloriana vehicles.

It didn't take long for Hippo team to be spotted by the girls of St Gloriana, and before long a salvo of greeting shots whistled their way. Unperturbed by the ineffective fire of their opponents, Hippo team closed the gap to the Matildas before rolling to a stop and taking aim. A few seconds later, the StuG spoke, its 75mm cannon sending a high velocity round hammering through the back of the centre Matilda, bringing the vehicle to a clattering halt.

"Like a phalanx, the Matilda is inexorable from the front, but vulnerable at the rear," Caesar said, feeding another round into the tank's receiver as Oryou brought them prowling forward once more. "While we are more like the horse archer, deadly at range, and mobile enough to flee when challenged."

"Yeah, but we can't shoot backwards like a horse archer," Saemonza noted dryly, "More's the pity."

"But our noble steed has carried us far and nary let us down. We should not talk ill of her," Oryou replied. "All shortcomings can be overcome with skill. Let us not lament our weaknesses, but seek to cover them with strength."

"That's it!"

**With Miho – 1025hrs**

It had been roughly a quarter of an hour since St Gloriana had begun attacking their position atop the hill, and although the situation looked to be going well, Miho had a nagging feeling in the back of her mind that something bad was going to happen. On the northern slope, Anteater, Leopon and Anglerfish team had managed to disable one of the Matildas assailing them, even with their vision somewhat obscured. On the southern slope, Mallard and Rabbit team had succeeded in keeping Rosehip's Crusader at bay, the cruiser tank forced to keep more than a little distance between them and Oarai's forces. It was then that it suddenly clicked for Miho – where was Darjeeling's Churchill? Popping the top hatch, Miho peered about, seeing no sign of the cumbersome heavy tank, and certainly not hearing anything over the clamour of battle. She was almost about to close the hatch when something caught her eye, two somethings actually, the tops of treads rolling up the almost unassailable eastern slope. Miho had written that approach off as too difficult for any tank to ascend, but now she was watching it she recalled something Yukari had said about the low centre of mass of the Churchill and long chassis giving it superior climbing ability. She hurriedly clambered back into the Panzer.

"Mako, reverse about ten yards, immediately. Hana, turret to 3'o'clock. We've been outflanked." Trusting her friends to spring to their tasks with all possible haste, Miho radioed the other tanks in her force. "All teams, we're under attack from the east-"

Miho didn't get to finish giving her orders as the Churchill crashed over the brow of the hill, sighted Anteater team, and fired. Fortunately for Oarai, but perhaps not so much for Anglerfish team, Mako's swift action brought the Panzer IV into the firing line, averting the loss of their flag tank. On the downside, this also meant the loss of their commander, as the six-pounder gun of the Churchill VII ripped open the schurzen skirts on the Panzer's side and then hammered into the flank armour, disabling Oarai's premier tank crew.

"This is Anglerfish team! We've been taken out!"

That one phrase sent an invisible ripple of panic through the minds of the rest of the team, even as some of them returned fire on the Churchill, their rounds bouncing off the thick armour but forcing it to retreat nonetheless. It was inconceivable to the Oarai team. They'd never lost their leader halfway through a battle before, and with Turtle team also gone, it was unclear to who command fell. To Oarai's great fortune, someone did step up to the plate, and quickly.

"All teams, this is Azusa. I am going to assume temporary command of the team from Miss Nishizumi. Begin retreat from this point immediately, breaking out through enemy lines. We will break to the south-west, and then rendezvous with Hippo team. Clear?"

"Affirmative, commander!"

Azusa's timely intervention had stopped the morale crisis that had momentarily gripped the team, and now the crews jumped to their tasks with grim determination, absolutely dedicated to ensuring that Anglerfish team's sacrifice had not been for naught. Following their heaviest armoured vehicles in a charge, Oarai's tanks clustered behind Mallard and Leopon in smashing through St Gloriana's lines and out into the desert again, seeking somewhere to rally.

Watching the situation unfold, Miho couldn't help but smile, even as she rubbed at her ribs, which had been painfully jolted against the cupola when the tank had been put out of action. Even if Azusa didn't realise it, she was looking like a better and better replacement commander for Miho by the day. While many officers could work by the book and create great strategies, it took something more to create a leader, a spark of spontaneity and flair. Azusa had just demonstrated that in rallying the team.

**The Stands – 1030hrs**

"Hmm, it looks like Oarai have lost their commander," Angela observed. "And yet despite that, they're managing a reasonable withdrawal from their position."

"While I don't believe that retreat was perhaps the best move when the enemy flag tank was there, exposed and asking to be disabled, it was certainly a competent one and well-executed. Oarai's chain of command seems to be functioning reasonably well," Pearce said. "There was but the briefest of pauses before a new commander evidently stepped in."

"I'm more impressed by the guts that Darjeeling girl had. To risk one's flag tank, no matter how well-armoured, for a brief chance at the enemy's? That takes some courage, or foolhardiness, to risk such a manoeuvre, especially against a team as well-reputed as Oarai have been."

"She has impressed me thus far," Pearce conceded, taking a sip of water, having long since finished his tea and being too absorbed in the match to waste time brewing another cup. "A pincer attack with a holding manoeuvre, the only real failure in it was the timing, followed by an audacious gambit on an entrenched opponent. I dare say we underestimated these girls when we joined their league."

Watching the two teams go at each other with such superb leadership did make Pearce feel a few pangs of guilt, both for disparaging the abilities of the girls he was competing against, and another for his teammates, for whom he paled as a leader in comparison to Miho and Darjeeling. This merely piled on top of his existing apprehension, having finally sent the letter he intended to send a short while ago, and the cadet's expression betrayed his current mood. Clark spotted the look on Sam's face and scowled.

"Oi, get that depressed look off your face. I know exactly what you're thinking, now buck the hell up or you'll be walking back to the airfield, cos you're damn wrong."

Recognising the reassuring quality to Clark's words, even if they didn't sound like it, set Pearce's mind a little more at ease. Even as she tried to appear abrasive to those around her, she wasn't a bad person at all, and if someone like her had some faith in him, then he couldn't be too bad either.

**Hippo Team – 1030hrs**

"That's three!" Saemonza whooped, as she observed the now smoking hull of another St Gloriana tank. The crew's celebration was cut short however, by a shouted radio communication from their main force.

"This is Anglerfish team! We've been taken out!"

The assault gun rolled to a halt as the reki-jo processed this information.

"We have lost our legate!" Caesar exclaimed. "What do we do?"

"Avenge her!" Her three teammates chorused.

As they prepared to chase down the last Matilda tank, Hippo team caught Azusa's orders coming over the radio. Sending an affirmative, Erwin glanced at her fellows, giving them all a feral grin as her hat shadowed her eyes.

"Take out this last Matilda and then rally with our allies?"

"Definitely."

As Hippo Team ran down the last of their self-appointed targets, the rest of the Oarai tank force moved off to the south-west. Well-aimed defensive fire held off the pursuit of St Gloriana's lone crusader, which retired swiftly once Azusa decided that they were at a safe enough distance to stand down for a while, before retreating slightly further, trading space for time. Knowing that they would be tracked down and assailed once more, the Oarai girls were wary, their new commander most of all, and Azusa's problems were just about to get worse.

"Commander, we're having motor issues," Nakajima reported. "I think sand has started to get into the electric system, and it's causing power fluctuations."

"Thanks Leopon team, we'll stop soon to take stock. Hopefully you can perform some last minute maintenance there," Azusa said, erring on the side of optimism.

"I don't think that'll really solve it," Nakajima replied, "Without being fully removed from this environment and cleaned out, we're not fixing this in a hurry."

The leader of Rabbit team sighed. She was really feeling the stress now, was this how Miho felt all the time while in charge? It was exhausting. But without her speaking up, they might not have had a commander to lead them out of the mess they'd been in. It was time for her to step up and vindicate Miho's trust in her. A new look of resolve on her face, Azusa turned to her crew.

"Yuuki, I want a report from all teams, their operational status, maintenance, ammunition, all of it. I need to know what we have at our disposal. The rest of you, check all of your gear and report to Aya. I'm going to take a look at the terrain."

Popping the hatch, Azusa immediately noticed a boxy shape rolling towards them from directly north of their position. She would have ordered that they open fire on the approaching vehicle had she not spotted the Afrika Korps emblem proudly displayed on its hull through her binoculars. Only Hippo team would do something so brazen.

Now one tank stronger, and the enemy apparently down another Matilda, Azusa felt moderately confident. She now had the numbers edge over St Gloriana, to go with their equipment advantage. They only had two problems to confront – their lack of mobility due to Leopon team's crippled Porsche Tiger, and the elements. A quick check of the water supply they had on board told her they had used nearly half of it in just over two and a half hours. Other teams may have used more. They could do with ending the match quickly. Fortunately, Darjeeling was of a similar mindset, having been informed that some of her own crews were starting to suffer water shortages, the comparative lack of space in their fully staffed and quite heavy tanks now proving to be something of a hindrance, and Azusa could pick out a dust cloud steadily closing on their current position.

With a pitched battle apparently now closing, it was imperative to ensure that the flag tank was protected and their tanks in an advantageous position. For Oarai, this meant they needed open sightlines, flat terrain and perhaps some favourable cover for a hull down position. The latter was the only factor that Azusa could not exploit. Where they had regrouped was a flat expanse of sand, with some shingle and a number of breaks in the dunes which created a plateau of sorts, almost an arena that would be perfect for a straight fight. To the end of protecting the flag tank, Azusa placed Leopon team in the centre of the line, adopting the angled position favoured by Tiger tank commanders to maximise their already considerable armour. Anteater team were then placed perpendicular to the Porsche Tiger, their tank's front poking out from behind the rear of Leopon's tank to add to their firepower. The other tanks in Oarai's force were arranged so as to make the line an arrowhead shape, Mallard team on the right covering Anteater team's rear, and Rabbit team on the left. Hippo team were sent off towards the left flank, seeking shelter of a nearby dune and Azusa's signal, which the acting-commander hoped would be enough to allow them to take out Darjeeling's Churchill.

"Is everyone clear on our plan?" Azusa asked, tapping into the wider radio net courtesy of Yuuki.

"Yep, sit pretty until the St Gloriana girls oblige us, and then take them down as they attack," Nakajima offered. "Not exactly a complicated one, but it's a sound one."

"We await your signal Kommandant," Erwin added, before talking to her crew. "I would have preferred we lure them onto our guns with a decoy tank, but we don't exactly have the luxury of preparing the ground in advance."

"If only we could have sown the ground with caltrops," Caesar lamented, "That would have been the bane of the enemy cavalry."

Meanwhile, in the Char B1 Bis, Mallard team was preparing both of their guns for firing, with Pazomi moving as many shells into ready positions as she could for firing the howitzer, and Sodoko doing likewise for the 47mm.

"Gomoyo, help Pazomi with loading the howitzer when we get in range please," Sodoko instructed. "With luck we won't be moving too much so you won't have to do much more driving."

In the centre of the line, Leopon team were readying themselves for another fierce bombardment, although it was unlikely to reach the intensity it had against Kuromorimine. It seemed Tsuchiya had drawn the short straw, as she was out on the back deck of the Porsche Tiger, tending to the stricken and temperamental vehicle. A few expletives could be heard as the auburn-haired girl occasionally caught herself on the hot metal of the engine deck. Sometimes being a mechanic was not an enjoyable pastime.

Nor was being a shut-in gamer in the middle of the desert, but Anteater team was soldiering on regardless. Having been saved by Anglerfish team in much the same way they had unintentionally done in the finals last term had really set a fire in the hearts of the gamer girls, and woe betide the opponent that crossed them at this point.

"All systems are green," Momoga said, "We'll see if we can't score a critical with this type 3 gun. Reasonable alpha damage, good penetration, we've got it all."

"We'll not let Miss Nishizumi down," Nekota added, more to herself than for her teammates' benefit.

It was not just Oarai's team that was determined though. As the St Gloriana force, now heavily depleted, closed on their foes with inexorable momentum, similar thoughts passed through their ranks, filling them with resolve. What rallied them more than anything was the presence of their captain, now standing in her Churchill's cupola, issuing orders with a clear, calm voice and her ever composed demeanour.

"Before we engage our opponents, our Churchill will lay out some smoke for us and jink out onto their right flank. With a screening cloud, we should be able to close with their tanks without too much risk. We will advance in a single line and breach through their defences, so that we can strike their exposed rear armour. Priority target is the enemy's flag tank, the Type 3 Chi-Nu. Are these orders clear?"

"Yes Miss Darjeeling!"

"Good. I have faith in you, and St Gloriana expects that every girl will do her duty today. Let us break our enemy here."

The loader's hatch opened on the side of the turret and a bemused looking Pekoe popped her head out, proffering a canteen to Darjeeling.

"Horatio Nelson, Miss Darjeeling?" She received a pleased nod as reply. "Might I add that that is the last full canteen we have. We won't be able to operate at maximum efficiency after the last of our water is gone, and Miss Sencha believes that will occur in the next 30 minutes."

"No need to worry, Pekoe," Darjeeling said, "I intend that this match end here, one way or another. With firm spirit and not a small amount of fortune, we shall hopefully be the victor."

The next ten minutes were tense for both sides, as the British tanks rolled towards their superior foe. At its peak, the tension was so thick that even the Porsche Tiger's powerful 88 would have bounced a shot off it. But the relative calm evaporated as swiftly as water in the desert's heat once battle was joined. First to speak was Rabbit team, the twin barks of their tank's guns piercing the relative quiet, and sending two shells plummeting into the ground before Darjeeling's Churchill. The blast of Mallard team's two weapons soon followed, then the Chi-Nu, and finally Leopon team's piece screamed out its challenge. A deluge of shellfire soon filled the air as St Gloriana responded, their guns impotent at the current range, but the ability to reply to their opponents in kind was comforting for the crews. As the exchange continued, drizzles of sand began to coat the tanks as the gunnery duel stepped up, shells ploughing up huge plumes of grit and dust around the battling tanks. Until it was rudely interrupted.

A cloud of smoke erupted about 500 yards from Oarai's position, covering the approach of St Gloriana from their fire. A few shots from the defending girls whistled past the British tanks, but none connected, and the gap continued to close.

"They used smoke!" Aya exclaimed.

"Keep calm, we'll take them as they leave the smoke cloud. The biggest threats are the Crusader and the Churchill. Prioritise them," Azusa said. "Hippo team, prepare yourselves."

"Jawohl."

Blocky shapes began to emerge from the smoke cloud after a few seconds, devouring the ground towards Azusa's defence. A salvo of fire ripped from the defenders' line, hammering into one of the tanks and taking it out of action, leaving Darjeeling with three vehicles. But Azusa could only see two.

"Check the flanks! I can't see one of their tanks!"

True enough, Rosehip had taken her tank round Oarai's right flank, threatening Mallard team, who turned to engage the speeding cruiser tank. However in doing so they left the defensive line vulnerable.

"Punch through between the B1 and the Porsche Tiger," Darjeeling ordered, ignoring the shaking of the tank as it accelerated through Oarai's defensive fire, rounds clattering off the heavy frontal armour.

The Churchill ploughed on with little sign of stopping, the relatively slow but powerful infantry tank shrugging off all the rounds laid against it before plunging through the enemy battleline. A rending screech went up as the heavy tank smashed into the b1's rear-left, forcing Mallard team into an on-the-spot pivot that sent their shots wildly off course, granting Rosehip a temporary reprieve. Sensing the danger, Anteater team scampered round the front of the Porsche Tiger on the opposite side to the Churchill, thereby avoiding destruction. This placed the Japanese tank in a poor position as St Gloriana's last Matilda stared it down, but even at point blank range the two-pounder could not generate enough power to pierce the armour, and the type 3 soon responded in kind.

Next to fall was Leopon team. With Darjeeling's Churchill now behind them, and having mechanical issues to boot, it just wasn't possible for them to avoid the six-pounder shell that set their tank ablaze. Fortunately, having had plenty of experience in the department, it wasn't long before the hiss of fire extinguishers could be heard, both from the automated system in the engine bay, and the girls doing so manually in the fighting compartment.

"Ignore the others, focus on the Chi-Nu," St G's commander stated, an edge to her voice betraying her well-concealed nerves.

As the blocky tank wheeled around the shell of its recent kill, Rabbit and Anteater team opened up with as much vigour as possible, but to little avail. With a sickening inexorability, the Churchill's turret slowly turned towards the Chi-Nu.

"I have you now."

It was not to be.

"Yahoo!" A screeching sound betrayed the high-velocity flight of an APCR round, catching the Churchill just shy of the driver's position in its left flank. The Hippos had come through for Oarai again, and Darjeeling's tank spluttered to a halt, belching smoke.

"Told you it was like Carrhae," Caesar said smugly.

"No, definitely the battle of Toba-Fushimi," Oryou contested.

"I'm saying it was Tedorigawa," said Saemonza.

"Far more appropriate would be the battle of Gazala," Erwin stated.

"That's it!"

It was less than a minute before the radio crackled into life, merely confirming what the teams had just enacted. "St Gloriana flag tank has been rendered inoperable. Oarai Girls Academy wins the match!"

Hearing those words almost made suffering the conditions worth it.

**End Chapter.**

**Omake the First**

It was not just Oarai's team that was determined though. As the St Gloriana force, now heavily depleted, closed on their foes with inexorable momentum, similar thoughts passed through their ranks, filling them with resolve. What rallied them more than anything was the presence of their captain, now standing in her Churchill's cupola, issuing orders with a clear, calm voice and her ever composed demeanour.

"Before we engage our opponents, my Churchill will lay some smoke for us. Rosehip, I want your Crusader to jink out onto their right flank. With a screening cloud, we should be able to close with their tanks without too much risk. We will advance in a single line and breach through their defences, so that we can strike their exposed rear armour. Priority target is the enemy's flag tank, the Type 3 Chi-Nu. Are these orders clear?"

"Yes Miss Darjeeling!"

"And remember this: Even though large numbers of tanks and many of our distinguished and beloved friends have fallen or may fall to the power of Oarai and all the terrifying skill of Miho's rule, we shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in Japan, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in each other, we shall defend our school, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender, and if, which I do not for a moment believe, this team or a large part of it were defeated and demoralised, then our comrades beyond the team, armed and guarded by their resolve, would carry on the struggle, until, in God's good time, a new team, with all its power and might, stepped forth to the rescue and the liberation of the old."

When silence greeted Darjeeling's speech, she glanced back inside her tank with a perplexed expression, and a somewhat exasperated Pekoe looked back at her.

"Miss Darjeeling, if you must paraphrase a speech, please try to make sure it is a relevant one."

**Omake End.**

**Omake the Second**

**The Pearce Residence – 0930hrs**

James Pearce was in his office when he heard the clatter of the mailbox from downstairs. Deciding it would be a suitable moment to both stretch his legs and acquire a drink, he left his desk to retrieve the mail. Taking the post into the kitchen, he set the kettle to boiling and began to sort through them – mostly routine things like bills and notifications from the water and energy companies, a parcel for Emma with a baking book in it. Only one item really stood out; a letter, marked for overseas postage, and addressed in a familiar hand. Deciding not to wait till Emma came home, James took his cup of tea and the letter back to his study and set to work on both of them. The letter read:

"To Mother and Father,

I know this is a break from my normal routine of sending you a letter every two months, but I felt that there were some things I needed to inform you of. Although I doubt you will approve, I have been appointed captain of the academy's college-level tankery team. Our carrier is currently off the coast of Japan, as the league has agreed to host not only Wellesley but three other academies as well.

Whilst the prospect of me being in combat, even as safe as tankery can be, will doubtless further steel your resolve to have me removed from my school, I do have this to say: Mother, Father, I have never been so happy. For the first time I've felt accepted. Tankery has brought me closer to those cadets I count as my friends, I've made friends I would never have expected, and I've met so many wonderful people who I hope to know for many years to come. If you thought I was determined to defy you and stay at this school before now, my resolve has increased tenfold. I'm sorry Mother, Father, but I refuse to be restrained by your fear of what may happen to me should I continue on this path.

With that said, I have one last thing to communicate to you, and it wounded me quite deeply when I found out. If you recollect our time in Tsukuba, you may recall a blonde-haired girl called Riko Matsumoto, who you attempted to steer me away from, and who became my best friend while we were there. I saw her again recently, and although our reunion began poorly, my heart leapt for joy when she told me that she had missed me too, only for it to sink low when she also informed me that she had not forgotten me, but that she had thought I had stopped replying. So I have a question for you Mother and Father, when were you going to tell me that you stopped her letters from arriving? And do you believe it was worthwhile to isolate me from my best friend simply because of your misplaced belief that she was a 'bad influence'? Of all the things you have done because you thought you knew what was best for me, this is the one that cuts deepest, and I hope you will reflect on this. For all your effort, I will go my own way at some point, and your attempts to stop me only increase my desire to do so.

I love you, Mum, Dad, and I know you think you are doing what is right. Just know that I disagree with you with all my heart. My friends, my family are at Wellesley, and I will not leave them without a fight.

Regards,

Your son, Samuel."

It was nearly eight hours before Emma Pearce arrived home to find her husband gazing out the window with a vacant stare, his work almost totally untouched and his email inbox full. He wordlessly pressed the letter into her hands. Emma scanned down the page, taking in every word with care before looking back at James with wide eyes.

"What do we do? Have we been wrong all this time?" she whispered. "James, what do we do? Where did we go wrong?"

"I don't know sweetheart," James replied, slipping an arm round her shoulder and drawing her in close, "But we need to think on this."

**Omake End**

**Hey there! I know it has been a while since I put a chapter up (danke for your patience), and my usual list of reasons would normally come out at this time, but you've heard them all already. Over the last week or so I wrote more than half of this, because I wanted to put it out at Christmas, but then festivities intervened and it got put by the wayside until now, when my muse retook hold and I hammered some more words out of my keyboard. I'd like to thank one of my friends back home, who shall remain nameless, for giving me some more inspiration to write too.**

**I hope you have enjoyed this chapter (and I'll give you a gold star if you can tell me what speech Darjeeling is paraphrasing in the first omake), so if you could kindly leave some constructive criticism, or indeed a review of any kind, that would be much appreciated. Chapter 25 will be out whenever I can manage it, because unfortunately dissertation writing is apparently not as speedy to fly from my keyboard as these chapters.**

**Until next time,**

**HereticalShinigami**


	25. Chapter 25: A Bridge Just Far Enough

**Chapter 25**

**Hey there! We're in a new year, and I've brought a new chapter to the table to offer up. I'm back at university now, but hopefully that shouldn't stop me cranking a few words out every evening or so. Good news is my dissertation is making progress, and TANKFEST is on the cards for this summer (make yourself known in the reviews if you're going too!), so I'm pretty hype. Also, my good friend LW Kilroy has posted a couple more pictures for our omake collaboration series, and they're pretty awesome, so check them out on DeviantArt (the current chapter is called Girls und Paintball). I'd also like to thank him for putting up with my constant complaints about my workload and lack of motivation.**

**Anyway, without further ado, enjoy this chapter.**

**Port Headland – Friday the 14****th**** February - 1100hrs**

"That was a bit of a… messy finish," Will commented, staring at the battle display. Smoke, craters and wrecked vehicles filled the image, testifying to the close fought nature of the engagement.

"It was indeed, it could have gone either way until Oarai's StuG pulled off that shot on the Churchill," Pearce said, "A very impressive display though."

"You're just sayin' that cos' your girlfriend is on the team that fired the winning shot," Chris teased.

Wellesley's CO didn't even dignify the statement with a response, designed as it was to get a rise out of him. Instead, he glanced at the rest of the party.

"I take it we are done here?"

His five companions nodded their assent in their own various ways. It seemed like none of them were enjoying the hot climate very much, and it was sapping their energy. Pearce felt much the same about the desert, and was quite looking forward to returning to the academy for a cool drink, and much more temperate climes. However, there was one thing he would like to do first.

"If you're all ready to leave then, we can pack the APC. However, there is something I want to do before we depart."

"Going to flirt with that blonde friend of yours again?" Angela said dryly.

"Well she is blonde, but I don't imagine Miss Darjeeling would be too appreciative of me trying to flirt with her," Pearce replied, giving his second a flat look. "Now if any of you would like to accompany me, I intend to go and see the ladies from St Gloriana."

"Not Oarai?" Andrew asked. It seemed to make more sense; they had won the match after all.

"It would be for little other than congratulating them," Sam said, "Although I suppose we can do that on the way."

"Meh, just throw everything in the FV and we'll drive there," Chloe said disinterestedly, "Beats wasting time waiting around here."

The six cadets began to collapse their moderately comfortable setup, taking down the beach umbrellas and packing up the chairs, although as they forfeited the shade for the burning heat of the sun they immediately wished that they hadn't. With the time now closing on midday, the sun was soon going to be at its zenith, and the intensity was becoming unbearable. Needless to say, with the climate beginning to irritate them, the packing was done somewhat sooner than expected.

**The Stands – 1100hrs**

Having been disabled early, an instance which had not occurred before, Anglerfish team got their first taste of leaving the action which it was still ongoing. After Azusa's retreat, the recovery vehicle had picked up their stricken Panzer, and them with it, before carting it back to Oarai's garages, from whence they proceeded to the stands, joining Turtle team who had been brought in a short while before. Watching the match was not quite as uncomfortable as one might expect, as clearly the designer for the viewing area had been blessed with common sense. The benches were protected from the blazing sun by a roof, while open sides let a breeze roll in, keeping the temperature still somewhat on the warm side, but far more tolerable.

It was from this position that Anglerfish team watched the match unfold, joined by Turtle team. Duck team had taken a bus into town, Noriko and co. apparently intent on playing beach volleyball before they had to leave. Miho couldn't fault them, Port Headland's beaches were supposed to be quite beautiful after all. However, it was the battle that had her attention. They'd only just made it back at the point St Gloriana began to close Oarai down, Azusa hastily arranging her defences to fend off the British tanks. Miho had nodded in approval at the defensive formation that Azusa had elected to adopt, although she felt that perhaps a wider spread might have prevent St Gloriana, even with their fewer numbers, from attempting to get round their flank.

"Miss Azusa is coming along nicely, isn't she?" Yukari said. "To be able to pull our team out of the fire like that, she's grown up a lot."

Miho nodded absently, a little more focused on the action unfolding in front of her than what her friend was saying. She felt a twinge of nerves as she watched the final fight unfold, as the Type 3 Chi-Nu of Anteater team narrowly avoided being put out of action, before breathing a sigh of relief as Saemonza hammered the final shot home.

"Hana, have you been teaching Hippo team how to shoot or something?" Saori asked, turning to her friend with a questioning look. "They've been doing really well these last few matches."

"Maybe just a hint or so, every now and then," the graceful girl replied, doing her best to be modest. "I think their great performance is down to their own skills though."

"We've been training hard, so it's only natural that everyone would become more proficient at their tasks. Azusa has obviously become more competent at commanding, not only her own tank, but other teams as well. We did only start this team back up last term after all," Miho added.

"Yeah! We've definitely come a long way," Saori said enthusiastically. "And we'll go a long way further, and win the tournament again this term!"

"We'll do our best," Miho smiled. "Shall we go back to the garage and wait for our friends?"

"If we can get ice cream on the way," Mako said, speaking up for the first time in a while. The heat seemed to sap her already limited energy, and now the adrenaline of combat had worn off, she was left feeling even more lethargic than usual.

Miho nodded cheerfully. "Sure!"

It took comparatively little time for the girls to avail themselves of some sweet frozen treats from a nearby vendor, and they returned to the garage just as Oarai's surviving operational tanks rolled in. As Rabbit team hopped out of their Lee, Saori shouted an effusive greeting and hugged each of them in turn.

"You did so well! We're all really proud of you."

The freshers shifted sheepishly at the praise, before Aya pointed at Azusa.

"Really, we didn't do anything more than our jobs. Azusa's the one you should be proud of; she took charge and led us to victory."

"But a commander can only shine when her team is excellent too," Miho countered, "Saori's right, we were really impressed by how you stepped up to the plate."

The conversation cut off as the last of Oarai's surviving vehicles, the now dust-covered form of the StuG III, rolled into the garage, before a grinning crew leapt out of the hatches. They were immediately greeted by Yukari, who all but ran over to them, a massive grin on her face.

"You guys were awesome! Miss Saemonza, your shooting was great! You claimed more than 50% of our team's knockouts in the match, I mean, wow!"

Even as jubilant as Hippo team were at claiming half of the St Gloriana team as kills, their gunner had the decency to look bashful at the praise. The four of them greeted Yukari in their own idiosyncratic ways, Oryou with a small formal bow, Saemonza by clapping her on the shoulder, Caesar by grasping her forearm, Erwin with a salute and a handshake. Yukari reciprocated in kind.

"I'm sure Anglerfish team would have done the same if you were in our position," Caesar said modestly, "We just had to be in the right place at the right time, and everything fell into place. It'd be far harder for us to do your job than you do ours."

"Nevertheless, you guys did great."

"Wonder who we'll get in the next round," Oryou pondered.

"I think it should be Bradley up next," Erwin said, "Maybe we can pull a proper Kasserine on the Yanks."

As the quintet chatted, on the other side of the hall, Miho was supervising some work on the disabled tanks, gauging how much effort it would take to repair them and noting them down for when Leopon arrived back, her ice cream in her off hand. She was broken out of her focus by a quiet voice piping up right next to her. Startled, Miho's ice cream went flying in a graceful arc, its eventual trajectory leaving it on a collision course with Karina, who was paying no attention to her surroundings, and the frozen treat smacked into her forehead with a splat. Shrugging, the redhead removed the offending item, wiped her forehead with a handkerchief, and then gave the ice cream an experimental lick.

"Erm… Sorry," Nekota offered from next to Miho.

"It's no worry," Miho said, "Did you want to speak to me about something, Nekota?"

The quiet blonde shifted nervously. "Well, I wanted to thank you for saving us back there. I know we were the flag tank and all, but it still means a lot."

"I like to think of it as returning the favour," Miho said, giving her comrade a polite smile, "After all, you did it for us last time."

"But…"

"No buts," Miho interceded, predicting that Nekota would point out that it was due to their inexperience with the tank rather than a deliberate action. "You saved us against Kuromorimine, we were just reciprocating. That's what teammates do, right?"

"Right. Still, thank you Miss Nishizumi."

"No problem. I imagine you're looking forward to returning to somewhere a little cooler?" Miho asked, seeing that even in the shade of the garages the leader of Anteater team was more than a little hot under the collar.

"Yeah… I certainly would not be complaining if we never had to fight a battle in the desert again, victory or not. I really need some more water…"

Miho gave Nekota a nod, and let the girl, who was obviously wilting due to heat exposure, go and collected refreshments. As she carried on with the damage assessments, the general mood of elation and congratulation continued as the tanks lost in the final battle were returned by the retrieval trucks. The returning teams were greeted with enthusiasm by their friends, and the heat and exertion of the match were quickly forgotten for an atmosphere of jubilance and camaraderie.

As Miho was sat with Saori and the rest of Anglerfish team, the redhead having insisted that her commander take a break from organising their withdrawal from Port Headland, a rumbling engine alerted her to the arrival of an armoured vehicle. It was not long before the blocky form of an armoured personnel carrier rolled in front of the sheds, coasting to a stop just shy of her position. If the Union Jack on the side hadn't betrayed the school to which the vehicle belonged, the small group of students that disembarked certainly would have. Bailing out of their ride and thence swiftly into the welcome shade of the engine sheds, the Wellesley group made a beeline in her direction.

"Miss Nishizumi," Pearce greeted, as Miho stood up out of polity. "Congratulations on your victory today. I'm sure I speak for all of my colleagues when I say we were quite impressed by your performance."

"Thank you," Miho replied, looking between the members of the group. Sensing that there were some faces she didn't recognise, Sam introduced his comrades, indicating each of them in turn.

"Since I don't believe you've met all of them before I'll just reintroduce my colleagues. This is my Executive Officer and Second-In-Command, Miss Angela Clark, the captain of one of our Cromwells Miss Anna Rowley, the gunner of one of our Churchills Miss Chloe Alexander, the loader for our other Churchill Mr Will Andrews, my loader Mr Andrew Roberts and the captain of our Achilles Mr Christopher Taylor."

"Um, nice to meet you all," Miho offered. She wasn't really very social at the best of times, and she couldn't gauge any of the cadets at all really, so she stuck to a polite greeting, receiving in return a mixture of non-verbal and verbal responses.

"Now that both of our schools have won our matches, we're through to the semi-finals. Although if I remember correctly, your school is on the opposite side of the draw to ours, which means we should end up against each other if we defeat our next opponents," Pearce said.

The youngest Nishizumi nodded. "Yeah, I think we have to fight Bradley next, and your team will be against Kuromorimine."

"And your sister, no? I've heard she is quite the commander, something which apparently runs in the family." Wellesley's commander ignored the whispered comments of Chris to Will about how he was 'turning up the charm'.

Miho nodded again, resisting the need to flush at the praise.

"I suppose it would be improper of me to ask you to offer advice on how to defeat your own flesh-and-blood, so I will refrain from that, although if you wish to ask about your opponents for the next round I or one of my colleagues might be able to proffer some assis-"

Pearce stopped as he looked past Miho at where Saori was sat, her eyes glazed over as she stared at something, before connecting the trajectory of her gaze to Chris, who was shifting quite uncomfortably under the stare. Miho shrugged, by this point somewhat used to her friend's erratic behaviour around the opposite gender, while the other Wellesley cadets smirked at the discomfort of the normally unflappable Taylor.

"That would be quite helpful," Miho said, "Obviously I don't expect a lot of details, but do you have any knowledge of their force composition?"

"If I remember correctly from watching replays the Bradley force is mostly Shermans, like with Saunders, but you might see some greater variation in armour, both type and variant. As you would expect, they're primarily an offensively geared force than a defensive team."

Miho filed all those things away for later, as they might prove useful towards constructing her strategy for facing off against Bradley. She would have preferred some specifics, but could hardly expect someone from another school to have a detailed roster to just hand to her. Miho would have pressed further but she sensed that there was something else the boy opposite her wanted to be getting on with, and put two and two together.

"I think Erwin is over with her tank on the far side of the shed if you'd like to see her," the brunette said, noting the moment of surprise on her counterpart's face, as if he was concerned that his motives were easy to read.

"I see. Well if you'll excuse me Miss Nishizumi, I would like to go and see her if you wouldn't mind."

"That's no problem," Miho replied, offering a friendly smile.

"Thank you. Once again, congratulations on your victory."

Pearce walked off, Clark in tow behind him, and the other cadets dispersed as well. Will headed for a quiet corner to have a quick read of the next few pages of his book, Chloe went to avail herself of some water, Anna went to inspect the Porsche Tiger (despite the parlous state it was in). Only Chris and Andrew remained where they were.

"You know Miss Nishizumi, we owe you and your team a little bit of a debt," Chris said. "The example you guys have set, your drive to win and the words some of you have spoken have had a pretty profound impact on our team captain, and more of us besides. I think we've had our eyes opened while we were over here that tankery is not quite the military exercise we were led to believe when we were drafted onto this course. You've also shown that you don't have to risk it all or abandon your friends to achieve success. So on behalf of my teammates, thank you," Chris said.

Stunned by the left field statement, Miho was a little bit unsure how to respond, especially to the level of gratitude being directed at her. Fortunately, Hana was on hand to offer some polite words back.

"I think you flatter us all with your kind words sir. We only strive to do our best, and are quite humbled that you would think of us as an exemplar to emulate."

"Nevertheless, thank you."

It was at this point, Saori stood up, and haltingly stepped up to Chris, who cast a curious gaze in her direction. The redhead had a light blush dusting her cheeks. It was then that Yukari realised what she had forgotten to pass onto her teammate, but it was a little too late.

"Err, um… hi. I'm Saori."

"Hey. Chris." The laidback cadet could tell what Saori was about to say, but he refrained from responding too quickly in order to let her get it out of her system.

"Well I, erm, wanted to ask, um, I'm not sure how to put this…"

"You wanted to ask me out?" Chris offered, more as a statement than as a question, in order to prompt the girl's response.

"Um, yeah." Taylor closed the distance between the two of them, put his hands on Saori's shoulders, and looked her dead in the eye, causing the redhead to blush even more.

"Look, you're very sweet, and it's quite flattering that a pretty girl like yaself would ask me out, but I'm already in a happy relationship. So I'm sorry, Saori, but I'm gonna have to turn ya down." Chris took a step back to give the girl some space, as all the blush had drained out Saori's face as he spoke, and she stood there unmoving. The tall cadet felt a little uneasy, as this was not a situation he was used to dealing with, and the group waited in tense silence for Saori to respond. At length, Saori looked up, and directly addressed the cadet opposite her.

"I'm sorry, I probably should have checked whether you were taken beforehand," she said, smiling widely, although the gathering moisture at the corners of her eyes and the wobbly tone of her voice gave away that she was more than a little shaken. Oddly though, Saori didn't particularly feel hurt, as she thought she might if a boy turned her down, but more a combination of embarrassment and a little depressed. "I've… got to go."

The redhead turned around and fled, careful not to make it look like she was running, a couple of tears running down her face. Hana turned to follow, as did Mako, whose sleepy demeanour had been shelved for the time being. Chris shot Miho an apologetic look, but she waved it off, he could hardly be blamed.

"Miss Miho, would ya mind telling Saori I'm sorry later? I didn't really want to upset her. But tell her if she wants to talk about it, she can get in contact with me, I've been through a few relationships so I might be able to give her some advice."

"I'll make sure to pass it on to her," Miho replied, retrieving her phone and taking the proffered details off Chris. "I doubt Saori will be upset for too long though, she tends to bounce back quite quickly, so don't worry. Thank you for your concern though."

"Not at all. It'd be pretty rude of me to just walk off and not care, ne? She seemed real nice, and I'm not one to be nasty to people if they're nice ta me. But I am a tad curious, why did she ask me out? I'm pretty darn sure I've not talked to her before, I reckon I'd have remembered if I had."

Miho pondered how to respond to this for a second, only noting in passing that Andrew and Yukari were engaged in what seemed to be quite animated conversation, and tanks had been mentioned at least once if Yukari's massive smile was any indication. Composing her thoughts, she addressed Chris once more.

"Err, well Saori spotted you during your first practice match against Kutusov, and she mentioned that she thought you were good-looking. She has quite an… interesting view of romance and what it's like to find someone to be with, and having just met you, she decided to go for it."

"What you mean is Miss Saori is a bit of a boy-chaser, right? Spots a guy, gets a crush on them, then moves on ta the next one?"

"Kinda, yeah," Miho said bashfully, before becoming a little more serious again. "But I think you're the first boy she's ever managed to actually ask out before. Even if she doesn't know you so well, it might have hurt her a bit to be told no, even if you did nothing wrong."

Chris rubbed the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. "Well I kinda guessed it was the first time she'd done that from her reaction – if she'd asked out other guys before I doubt she'd be quite as upset this time round. But I think in the long run, it might actually be good for Miss Saori. Constantly chasing romance, especially where it doesn't exist, can really tire some people out, especially if they don't see results. I think, despite the obvious hang-up she's having right now, it'll be a learning experience if nothing else."

Miho smiled. "Yeah, I reckon it might."

On the other side of the engine sheds, Hippo team were surprised by the arrival of Pearce, having been too busy with their usual banter to notice when the Wellesley cadets had shown up. Hailing them with a perfunctory wave, Pearce greeted the four reki-jo.

"Oi, Pearce!" Saemonza said, a cocky grin plastered onto her countenance, "Come to pay your respects to the conquering heroes?"

"Well I did pass on my congratulations to Miss Nishizumi just a minute ago actually," Pearce replied, deliberately playing dumb so as not to give Saemonza the satisfaction, "But I suppose I should congratulate her subordinates as well."

The red mist was slowly descending for Saemonza at the back-handed implication, but fortunately Oryou was on hand to change the topic. "Erm, Pearce, who is the lady with you? I recognise her, but I don't think we've met before."

"I'm this one's 2IC," Clark replied, "Angela Clark. And you are?"

"Oryou."

"Caesar."

"Saemonza."

"Erwin."

The last name caught Angela's attention and she scrutinised the girl who'd spoken it. She'd only really heard about the blonde from Pearce, so she took a moment to form a brief assessment of Erwin. Average height, moderate build, although the coat she wore made it hard to tell, cute face accentuated by a… unique haircut, and a confident demeanour. Not particularly much to glean from her appearance, not enough to get a judge of her character at least.

"A pleasure," Clark said, opting to let the conversation play out so she could get a feel for the Oarai girls.

"So Sam," Erwin said, "What did you think of our performance in the match?"

"I thought your team performed excellently, and your crew in particular did very well," Pearce complimented. "I believe you scored six destructions on St Gloriana, around two-thirds of your team's overall, which is quite impressive."

"Danke," the blonde replied graciously, "Although I feel like my kameraden deserve more credit than myself, as once we sighted the enemy, I did comparatively little."

"Don't be silly," Caesar interjected, "The body is nothing without the head, as a team is nothing without its leader. Was your namesake not 'The Desert Fox'? I think your input was invaluable to our success in this battle."

"Yeah, without your direction on firing, Saemonza would have emptied out the shot locker halfway through the match," Oryou added, ignoring the pointed glare directed at her by the gunner in question.

"But this does get us one closer to a match against your school too," Caesar said, looking at the two cadets. "Perhaps we might be on opposite sides of the lines at some point."

"Assuming your opponent does not defeat you, then you will be," Angela responded. Despite the increasing odds against them as the tournament weeded out the less powerful teams, she was confident. Wellesley was good, their team cohesion was looking to improve despite the setback against Pravda, their tanks were strong if few in number, and if that wasn't enough, she'd been given a promise that they would win. Hopefully Pearce would uphold that promise, as the alternative hardly seemed tantalising. Banishing the thought before her mood soured, Clark continued, "We will come out victorious in the next round, I assure you. Right, Sam?"

Pearce simply nodded, not needing to add to the declaration.

"Then maybe I'll get the distinct pleasure of putting a shell through your Chaffee's frontal armour," Saemonza taunted, her cocky attitude rubbing Angela the wrong way, tempting her to retort.

"That'd be difficult without a rotating turret, as we'll be behind you."

As the two hotter heads in the group hurled rejoinders at each other, Pearce addressed Erwin again.

"As much as I would love to say this argument between my second and your gunner was my aim in coming here, my primary objective was actually this," he said, pressing a small note into her hand. "Even if you don't wish to contact me until I've fulfilled my promise to you, I don't want to part ways without you having my details, lest we encounter a situation akin to a couple of years ago. Both my phone number and email address are on that note."

Erwin stowed the note in one of her jacket's pockets, making sure to button it back up securely, before fumbling for a bit of paper herself. She couldn't help but feel a little warm inside, as the gesture only added to the proof of her old friend's conviction to fulfil his oath. The blonde eventually found a piece of paper in one of her pockets, and began to search for a pen, until the ever-reliable Oryou handed one to her. Offering a quick thanks to her friend, Erwin scribbled down her own email and phone number and handed it to Pearce.

"Just in case, take my details too. Better safe than sorry, ne?" she grinned wryly. "Wouldn't want another communications failure, would we?"

"Coming from the girl named after the leader of the Ghost Division," Pearce replied, tucking the sheet away into his own jacket. "I'll keep these details safe, thank you."

The reciprocation of the gesture he made from Erwin couldn't help but make Sam feel a little more content inside. The details he'd written for the reki-jo had actually been a spur of the moment idea in the stands during the match rather than a planned thing, as he'd been intending to come and see them anyway. Pearce had seen that the embers of their old relationship still had a bit of warmth, and was determined to take every opportunity to add new fuel and fan the flames of it again, and that little slip of paper Erwin had just handed him felt like just one more piece of kindling that strengthened that friendship, even just fractionally. Kept in his breast pocket, that scrappy note felt a little more like a pocket warmer, a soothing heat that was helping to coax the normally cold Pearce out of his shell. It was a pleasant warmth, and Pearce contemplated whether letting more friends in close would help ward the chill away even further.

Noting the glazed look in the cadet's eyes, Caesar waved her hand in front of Pearce's face.

"You spaced out there," she said, as the diminutive cadet refocused on the movement. "That lack of focus would see you struck down on the battlefield."

"Perhaps, but only if you took the initiative," Pearce replied, before a hint of red tinged his cheeks at the double entendre, as it did the brunette's opposite him. Recomposing himself, he addressed all of Hippo team, "Anyway, I believe it is time I left you all in peace. You undoubtedly have duties to be attending to, and I'll not distract you from them. I wish you luck in your next match, and will hopefully see you again soon enough."

He offered a perfunctory nod to Oryou, Erwin and Caesar in turn, before tapping Angela on her the arm, stopping the tall girl mid-sentence as she retorted to Saemonza.

"Let us depart, Angela, your argument with Saemonza can wait until next time."

Clark cursed in her head even as she nodded. She'd hoped to gain insight into the members of Hippo team, particularly Erwin, but had been distracted by her ego as she traded witticisms with the StuG's gunner. Raising a hand in farewell, she fell into step next to Pearce as they went to collect their colleagues.

"Did you enjoy your little talk with Miss Saemonza?" Pearce enquired.

"Pffft," Angela retorted derisively, "She's a cocky one, I'll give her that, maybe we'll knock her down a peg or two if we end up against them at some point." Angela missed the twinkling of amusement in Pearce's eyes for a moment. "What about you? Happy seeing your blonde friend again?"

"Her name is Erwin," her companion chided gently, "And yes, it did make me happy. Have you ever missed someone so much that just seeing them can brighten your day?"

"Can't say I have," Clark said dismissively, "I miss people occasionally, but it's no use getting cut up about it. People come and people go, that's the way life goes. Tell me though, why do you even miss her? You've done a complete 180 on your opinion of Erwin in just a few scant weeks. Didn't she hurt you?"

Pearce looked Angela in the eyes and gave her an almost pained smile.

"That was in part my fault, Angela. We hurt each other, but despite that we both still wanted to care about each other. She's my oldest friend, Angela, someone I cared about deeply, and I think I'm justified in missing her. Although if I might ask, why do you care?"

Wellesley's 2IC fell silent, unwilling to voice the thoughts going through her head. For all she was still a little in the dark about Erwin, her initial impression of the blonde had been underwhelming. Why Pearce would go to such great lengths to save their friendship was beyond her, even with the sentimentality of her being his oldest friend. Perhaps she was just more ruthlessly pragmatic, but there was also a hint of doubt there, a niggling voice at the back of her mind that asked 'but what about me?' What did she mean to Pearce?

"I don't," Clark said eventually, "I was just curious."

Her counterpart shrugged, unwilling to pursue the line of enquiry further after he sensed Angela becoming slightly more defensive. Sam couldn't for the life of him work out why his second seemed a little displeased with his choice to try and preserve his relationship with Erwin, but decided it was not worth the potential argument. Despite the awkward lack of communication, it took them comparatively little time to round up their errant comrades, who had been inveigling themselves into Oarai's team quite well, and before long they were stood next to the APC, with Anglerfish team, sans Saori and Mako, seeing them off.

"I have no doubt we'll be seeing each other soon," Pearce said to Miho as he climbed into the secondary position on the APC. "Good fortune in your next battle."

"Likewise," Miho replied politely, "Have a safe trip back to your school."

The bespectacled cadet offered a cursory nod of acknowledgement before slipping into his position in the vehicle. Meanwhile, his colleagues were piling into the back of the FV, grabbing seats on one of the side benches, whilst the other was covered in all of the gear they'd brought with them. Before they did so however, Andrew and Chris said farewell to Yukari and Miho respectively. Yukari beamed at Andrew in an enthusiastic goodbye, the two obviously having hit it off, most likely having found that they both obsessed over different things, while Chris shared a couple of muttered words with Miho about Saori and how it'd be nice to get to know all of them more. A mere minute later, the APC rolled out, Will guiding the vehicle on a steady course towards St Gloriana's garage this time.

**Committee Room, Tankery League Headquarters, Tokyo, Japan – 11:30hrs**

At this moment in time, Shiho Nishizumi was not a happy camper. While this would hold true most of the time, the head of the clan generally being considered a serious and humourless woman by many, in this particular instance, it went a ways further.

The governing board for the High School Tankery League, itself subordinated to the Tankery Federation and then to the Sport and Youth Bureau, consisted primarily of a main committee, broken down into various sectors of responsibility, be it safety, logistics, PR, etc. These sectors all had their own departments, staff and offices throughout the main headquarters building. The committee was then supplemented by a number of outside experts, including advisors for procurement of vehicles, a military attaché (often a cushy end of career job for some top brass), as well as veterans of the circuit. Shiho had been awarded a position in the latter category some years ago, both for her personal experience in tankery, and her tenancy as head of the Nishizumi family. As a result, she was invited to attend board meetings and offer input and advice, in return receiving a vote in any divisions that occurred during those meetings (as head of a prominent tankery school), and a modest salary, which Shiho had attempted to turn down for reasons of pride. All in all, it seemed like a reasonable role to play, and one not too burdensome on an already busy woman.

However, three years ago the federation had seen fit to appoint her as Director of the High School Tankery League, citing her experience, patience, efficiency and impartiality as perfect qualities for the leader of the League. Although the job demanded far more of her time, hence alienating her further from her family, Shiho had accepted, hoping to turn the High School Tankery League into a model of efficiency. Sadly this was not the case. As the Nishizumi matriarch had found out shortly after taking up her position, the Tankery League was a slow and ponderous beast, much like some of the people running it, and even her ruthless drive could not fully mitigate the relative lethargy of the committee. As a result, she was obliged to sit through interminably long meetings, where before she could cite other business, as well as pointless communiques and endless amounts of bickering. It took all of Shiho's steely will not to lose her patience with some of the more officious members of the committee, especially when in meetings that could have been more easily held as a conference call, rather than dragging her from her comfortable office at the tankery school. This was one of those meetings.

'If I cared about the salary for this position, I would claim they don't pay me enough,' the stoic brunette thought, resisting the urge to drum her pen on the desk as the boredom took full hold.

They'd started about two hours ago, and it was at this point that they'd just about finished discussing the incident in the Wellesley/Pravda match a few days prior. Much bickering had occurred on the subject, with the head of the ethics department (and secretary for this particular meeting), one Jun Haruno, fully supporting the banning of all foreign national teams immediately until cooler heads had intervened. Eventually Shiho had broken the deadlock, her commanding voice silencing the argument. She spoke neutrally of the conduct of the Wellesley team, and made sure to point out that no rules had been breached, a move which silenced the more vindictive of her colleagues. In the end, it had been decided that they would send an official warning to the academy to make it look like they were reprimanding the behaviour they'd exhibited, but could do little further as they hadn't actually broken any rules, and it would be reflect poorly if it appeared the League was laying down an arbitrary judgement.

"And now onto the next item on our agenda, the proposals put forward by Mr Ryuujirou Kamikage with regard to the organisation of the quarter/semi-finals this term," Jun announced. "I assume we are all in some way familiar with Mr Kamikage's proposal?"

Shiho's focus returned to the meeting as the head of Ethics raised the next item on the agenda, and the current reason for the Nishizumi matriarch's annoyance, the proposals laid on the table by the chief of PR, Ryuujirou Kamikage. She gazed down the table at Kamikage, who had stood up to address his colleagues. A slimy looking businessman with gelled black hair and a pair of reflective glasses, Ryuujirou was still, for all the revulsion he inspired in his colleagues, the most effective PR agent they'd had in the League, and part of the reason tankery was still a moderately popular sport. With the new groundswell of support that last term's upset in the finals had brought, the head of PR had spotted opportunity, and done everything he could to exploit it and make tankery a powerhouse spectator sport once more. In general, this had meant more commercialising, and a push towards major network deals which had seen most of the tankery matches this term televised live. However, this newest initiative by Kamikage was less pleasing to Shiho's ears. She had expressed as much when he had consulted her on it a short while ago, but had made it clear that he would not scrap the motion. Once he had re-elaborated to the committee his plans, Shiho spoke in a commanding voice.

"I will repeat the objections I had when you first formulated this proposal, Mr Kamikage. Not only is it incredibly short notice, but it effectively compromises the standard format for the competition," she said, steepling her fingers and levelling an uncompromising look at him.

Ryuujirou gave her a snake-like smile, practically radiating false friendship.

"I'm aware it is quite short notice, Lady Nishizumi, but kindly reconsider the benefits. Just think about it – this sport, rising from the ashes of the rut it has been in for the past decade, and built on a spirit of foreign cooperation. I can think of little better. Not only will it be a spectacle at home that will have viewers all across the nation watching, but it'll get the interest of parties in Europe. I have a few friends in broadcasting companies over there; we'll be able to get live slots."

"It will invalidate the hard work of a team if they fail for reasons other than their own mistakes though," Shiho replied, "It would be foolhardy to sacrifice the tournament's integrity purely for publicity stunts."

"As a compromise, why not have it as an initial stage, and then have the finals in their standard format?" came the bored tone of Lieutenant-General Ichinosuke, sat at the far end of the table. It was surprising to hear the thickset man contribute anything at all, given his rather ambivalent attitude towards his role on the committee. An older man in his early sixties, Ichinosuke was merely waiting out the end of his career, occasionally rolling his eyes at the bureaucrats and businessmen he rubbed shoulders with in the Tankery league.

"That would still skew the natural course of the competition," Shiho said.

"However, it is a good balance," Jun countered. "Perhaps we should consider Mr Kamikage's suggestion, as it does offer the chance of the league becoming more prominent once more. In my role as chair for this meeting, I hereby call it to vote. Those in favour of this compromise solution, raise your hands."

The Nishizumi matriarch could only watch as more than two-thirds of the board assented to the motion, in what she knew was a motion that had essentially been decided beforehand, and she could practically feel the putrid and self-satisfied gaze of Ryuujirou focused on her. The greasy PR rep was practically radiating waves of smugness. She turned her coldest stare upon the man, taking a hint of satisfaction at the noticeable flinch from the PR rep, but it did nothing to mitigate her irritation at the upset that had just occurred.

"The motion carries," Jun announced to her colleagues. "Mr Kamikage's suggestion, that we make the next round into a 2vs2 event, will be put into effect immediately. However, due to the short notice, we will have to discuss the procedure for the match post haste, and thus, I am adding it to today's agenda."

Shiho stifled an exasperated sigh. This was going to be a long meeting.

**St Gloriana Garages, Port Headland, Australia - 1130hrs**

Due to their trip to see the Oarai girls taking slightly longer than expected, the cadets only arrived in the St Gloriana garages as the red-coated girls were halfway through packing up, and even then that was only because the faux-Brit ladies had stopped to take on tea before beginning to prepare for their departure. However, despite the hustle and bustle of the workshop, as soon as the APC rolled into sight they were greeted by several familiar faces.

"Good day," Darjeeling greeted as the cadets disembarked, "And what brings our colleagues from Wellesley here today? You must have been spectating our match to be out here in Australia."

"Nah, we just came down here to put some shrimps on the barbie, open a couple of brewskies and watch the cricket," Chris joked, putting on a fairly terrible impersonation of an Australian accent as he did so.

There was silence for a moment, and more than one of Taylor's fellow cadets opened their mouth to dish out a barbed comment at the laidback captain, but they were cut off at the pleasant sound of tinkling laughter from both the St Gloriana commander and her subordinate Assam.

"Wonderful. Perhaps next time you could invite us, no?" the blonde said, her bright blue eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Of course."

"Joking aside, I am curious as to what you thought of our performance in the match," Darjeeling asked, directing her statement at the cadets as a group.

"From a technical standpoint, I thought that you did quite well," Anna offered, "Your tanks were under-gunned and only had a slight advantage in numbers. To be able to contest Oarai's now relatively formidable line-up your team performed impressively."

"Your strategy overall was sound, and based on your strengths, while your discipline was excellent, much as we were told to expect," Clark said. "You also pulled off some great tactical coups during the match – a use of smoke, attacking from unexpected quarters, picking off their Hetzer by flanking. All of those showed some good command initiative."

Her colleagues nodded, knowing that Angela rarely gave outright praise to anyone without them having accomplished something genuinely impressive. Despite the complimentary critique offered by the two cadets, Darjeeling's lips pursed almost imperceptibly.

"While I do thank you for your kind words, I can't help but feel like they ring hollow in the face of our defeat. Perhaps you could shed some light on what you feel went wrong? An outsider's perspective might help us to better resolve what we could improve in the future." For all the polite offerings the cadets had made, St Gloriana's captain wanted constructive criticism, not pleasantries. They could be exchanged later, over tea and biscuits preferably.

"Well if I'm blunt about it, you have no initiative," Angela said, carrying on before the blonde could interject, "Not you personally, I've already mentioned your command was excellent, but your team as a whole seems to move as if pieces on a board, and only the Crusaders had any particular free reign. It seems as if your chain of command is too rigid, and relies on orders from above rather than employing auftragstaktik. Somewhat compounding this, your team's use of tight formation is something of a weakness. An entire echelon of Matildas was lost to a single self-propelled gun, because they, as far as we could see, continued advancing on their objective as one."

"I see," Darjeeling replied, her brow furrowing slightly.

"Personally, I think it might have been more prudent for the Matildas to run interference or delaying tactics, perhaps retiring by fire and movement towards the objective rather than merely making a dash. Alternatively they could have split up, sending one group after the StuG and one on to the objective. These tactical options were all available, and though I cannot promise they would have worked, we will not know because your team felt that they could not try them and still follow your plan."

Seeing that Angela had finished offering tactical analysis and advice, Pearce stepped in, hoping to perhaps dispel any negativity his second might have created. When Angela was asked to speak her mind, it could sometimes tread on people's toes.

"Although Miss Clark may have been a little harsh in her estimations, she is essentially correct in her statements, Miss Darjeeling," Pearce said. "From what we could see from our position, your main force moved like blocks on a planning table. This makes your team lethal when coordinated, but weak when piecemeal, or presented with unexpected tactical occurrences. St Gloriana has the training and discipline to be superb, but at this low level of command, you need less of a grand battleplan, and more tactical flexibility. I of course apologise if I have overstepped my bounds here."

"Not at all," the elegant blonde replied, offering the cadets a smile to dispel any potential fears they had about offending her. "We have some time before our departure, so unless you are in a rush, would you care to join us for some refreshment?"

"That would be delightful," her counterpart replied, looking to his fellow cadets to gauge their opinions.

Upon their nods of assent, the St Gloriana girls led them towards one side of the engine sheds, where a series of small tables had been set up near a pair of kettles, and some of the other schoolgirls were availing themselves of drinks and food. The cadets did likewise, mostly picking cold drinks from the available ones, the lack of second glances from their Japanese hosts, who almost all had tea of some description, indicating that the girls of St Gloriana were used to their guests not sharing the same fetish for the beverage as they seemed to. Upon receipt of their refreshments, cucumber sandwiches included, the cadets all took seats, splitting into smaller groups amongst multiple tables. Chris, Andrew and Will were sat with Assam, Anna and Chloe with Orange Pekoe and her rather similar-looking counterpart Oolong, and Sam and Angela were seated with Darjeeling, although Clark felt a little irritated as the other two mostly conversed with each other.

"Given that I didn't get the opportunity upon arrival, I think now would be the appropriate time to offer my commiserations," Pearce said. "It's somewhat unfortunate, because I was looking forward to potentially facing your team in the next round or the finals."

"Thank you for your kindness, but I think in this instance the better team won," Darjeeling replied, "Miss Nishizumi has inspired something in that team that I fear I cannot, and I think most teams in the tournament will be hard-pressed to match them."

"Despite Oarai's supposed superiority, it was a close-fought match that could have swung in your favour, particularly when you struck at Oarai's flank via that steep incline. It was an interesting use of your Churchill's low centre of gravity," Pearce countered, "I think you give yourself too little credit Miss Darjeeling."

"And I think you give me too much, Mr Pearce. The number of our vehicles lost to theirs was in the margin of 2-1, hardly a ratio indicative of a great commander. I would not see me lasting long as a general."

"I am sure Miss Katyusha might point to Georgy Zhukov or Ivan Konev and disagree," the bespectacled cadet answered, "But even that forgoes the most basic difference here – this is tankery. Were the damaged tanks arrayed in here actual wrecks from a battlefield then perhaps it would indicate a flaw of command, but as far as I can see you have lost no men, nor any ground that you were supposed to defend. I can see no battleline that was broken, or any conflict that was lost. Were this an actual battlefield you would not have been seeking to destroy a random tank in the enemy's force, you would most likely have been aiming to annihilate their force wholesale, or rout them from the field."

Pearce's voice had risen slightly as he spoke, and he had leant forward slightly, garnering the attention of his fellows at the other tables, and the pronounced vehemence with which he spoke caught some of them, Darjeeling included, a little off-guard, with the blonde's perpetually composed exterior cracking for a split second. But then the shorter boy's demeanour softened a little, and took on a hint of warmth.

"As you and your fellows in other teams in this league have been more than happy to show to me time and time again, Tankery is not a military exercise, and if it was, it would be a poor one. It is a sport, and one I am proud to be part of, even though my conduct in it has been less than spectacular. It is a great game, replete with camaraderie and a great ethos of sportsmanship that I have seen reflected in many of the people I have encountered."

Darjeeling was almost about to speak up as Pearce paused, but Angela gave her a light tap on the arm to distract her, followed by a cautionary glance.

"Just wait a minute. Once he's gone into full monologue, it's hard to stop him."

The blonde nodded calmly, then refocused her attention on Pearce.

"Miss Darjeeling, although you might think my words to be nought but idle flattery, I can assure you I mean all of them. I do not give praise lightly, or compliments where I feel them wasted, and neither do my colleagues. You and your compatriots have challenged my views on this sport, and you've changed them, for the better in my opinion. Perhaps you may not have the mettle to be a military commander, but you have yet to lead troops in the field, and I would withhold judgement. As a tankery commander and a person however, I have nothing but respect for you, and I do not wish to see you sell yourself short. I apologise for this tirade, I should not have let my nerves be struck so easily."

St Gloriana's refined leader was somewhat taken aback by the speech of her counterpart. The intensity of feeling, like a wildfire, had sprung from nowhere, burned hot and with great intensity before vanishing just as quickly. She could scarce believe that the small and now somewhat sheepish-looking Wellesley commander had a minute prior been lecturing her on the difference between tankery and war. This was an almost complete turnaround from their first meeting, where Pearce had dismissed her ideas of chivalry and sportsmanship as unbefitting of the battlefield. The letter and basket they had received the other day had intimated that his opinions had changed, but this had hammered the point home. To be cited as one of the influences that had helped that change was quite touching, and Darjeeling's usual enigmatic smile was replaced by one a little more heartfelt.

"It's quite alright, Mr Pearce, I am more than used to some of our more… enthusiastic acquaintances getting het up about things, it was merely unexpected. But thank you for your kindness, it is much appreciated." Darjeeling paused for a moment to take a sip of her tea. "I must ask though, what brought on such a tremendous sea change in your attitude? I can most assuredly say you were not this outspoken before."

"That's cos Sam met a lovely lady while he was over here," a sing-song voice lilted across the table. Pearce took the opportunity to glare harshly at Chris, who had the biggest shit-eating grin plastered across his mug. While the statement in itself was not incorrect, it certainly gave a misleading impression, although it did give him the fantastic sight of the normally eloquent Darjeeling caught without a witty response.

"Just ignore the idiot," Angela said, scowling at Wavell team's captain with enough intensity that would, were her glare weaponised, have melted Taylor into a puddle on the floor. "He likes to stir shit. He actually means one of Pearce's friends from when he was a kid." She made sure to emphasise 'friend' so as to ensure no misunderstanding could occur.

"Intriguing. Would you care to elaborate?"

"It may take a little bit of time to explain," Pearce cautioned.

"We have time to spare," Darjeeling replied, somewhat interested to hear the full story. "Do go on."

The cadet nodded, and then began to add to the hazy picture the blonde had of the events of the past few weeks. He explained his relationship to Erwin, his encounters with the leaders of other teams, and finally the debacle of the match with Pravda, which had made it abundantly clear to him that tankery was not war, nor even anything close to it. Pearce left out his own issues with trust, the promise he'd made to Erwin, and the potential stakes of Wellesley failing to win the tournament, although he could tell that Darjeeling had caught him omitting certain details by the narrowing of the blonde's eyes at certain points in his story.

However it was as he was bringing the story up to the present that Pearce noted something he had otherwise forgotten – the people seated around him. He'd assumed that they'd be chatting amongst themselves again, but instead it was deathly quiet, and upon glancing around, the bespectacled cadet noted that all eyes were on him. It was mildly reassuring that for the most part, as those eyes were generally seated above supportive expressions, although the Wellesley commander still found it disconcerting, and so he waited until Darjeeling spoke.

"That's quite the interesting tale you spun there, Mr Pearce," Darjeeling said in her usual polite lilt. "It has certainly helped shed some light on your situation, a unique one I'm sure." Moreover, it had established his honesty, especially in relation to the Pravda incident, one Katyusha had been only too happy to relate to her British ally. Apparently the little blonde still had some choice words for her erstwhile opponent.

"Would have shed more light if he'd covered all of it," Angela muttered, none too quietly. The sanitised version that her counterpart had peddled had certainly won some sympathy from the faux-British girls if the looks she'd observed were any indication, but with some of the less pleasant elements omitted the whole saga had had less of an impact than it could have had. Both of her companions at the table glanced at her for a second before readdressing one another.

"Nevertheless, I think I can form a better judge of your character now that I am in possession of more of the details, and I can say without hesitation that it is far more positive than my initial impression of you. You will have to forgive my bluntness, but when I first met you, I thought you were straight-laced, humourless and perhaps a little impolite, and perhaps even you realised that. Compared to the impression we have been given of Great Britain at St Gloriana, our first encounter left me feeling perhaps a little cheated."

Pearce merely nodded. He wasn't going to try and deny any of those accusations, mostly because they were true, but also because he recognised Darjeeling was trying to pay a compliment by saying he had grown up a little since then.

"But the idiom 'never judge a book by its cover' springs to mind, and although it is early days, I was quite touched by the olive branch you extended to us, something only reinforced by your earnestness now. Perhaps we could extend this relationship further, and see if something wonderful can come of the interaction between our schools?"

Darjeeling smiled as she did so, not her usual inscrutable smile, but a genuine smile, full of warmth. She believed that the honesty with which her counterpart had engaged her should be responded to in kind, and judged that now they had established a mutual respect, maybe friendship could follow, and she was willing to extend her hand in gesture of such. The offer was there, if only the Wellesley cadet would grasp it, and judging by the grateful expression on Pearce's face, the deal was sealed.

"I think that would be delightful Miss Darjeeling. If you would allow us the honour, it would be quite lovely to be able host you and your comrades at some point." He said nothing about the inevitable flak he might get for such a suggestion without checking with his superior from Captain Hart, deciding instead to worry about that later.

"Splendid. Well, now we have settled affairs of business, perhaps it might be better to enjoy some more casual conversation. After all, is not the best company that of well-informed, clever people who have a great deal of conversation?"

"A paraphrase of Jane Austen?" Clark murmured to herself, by this point resigned to being a third wheel in this conversation, something she was more than a little annoyed about. As a result she barely registered when the blonde captain's face lit up with what could be considered an almost ecstatic grin for the well-mannered girl.

"Exactly! I had hoped that one of you might get the reference. Is it not a wonderful book?"

"_Persuasion_? It was okay, although I would hardly call it a classic," Angela replied noncommittally, "Usually people prefer to cite _Pride and Prejudice_ as Austen's greatest, with perhaps _Emma _as a contender. I certainly preferred _Emma_ of the two."

As the two ladies now conversed with each other, Pearce looked around at his companions, the break in the flow of chit-chat allowing him to take full stock of the situation. On one side of him, he could both hear and see Andrew, Will and Chris exchanging jokes with Assam, the quartet occasionally exploding into laughter at particularly witty quips, although it appeared as if Will half had his attention focused on the conversation between Darjeeling and Angela, the literary discussion having piqued his interest. To the other side, Pekoe, Chloe and Anna were apparently engaged in a discussion on the finer points of culinary skill, having swiftly disabused Pekoe of any notion that home-grown British food was actually any good. Instead the pair of Wellesley cadets were going through the relative melange of foreign cuisine that had been assimilated from all corners of the former British Empire in an attempt to educate the naïve redhead. A few other girls from the St Gloriana team had tentatively joined the conversations at both tables, and seemed to take some interest in the back and forth between the groups. At length, Pearce tuned back into the dialogue at his own table.

"Oh, I did most enjoy _Emma_, and _Pride and Prejudice_," Darjeeling said. "I have been trying to convince Pekoe to read them, but she is most taken with _Great Expectations _at the moment, and has been reading nought but Dickens all year."

"You could offer to do a swap – you read a book Pekoe chooses, and Pekoe reads one of your choice. It would give you another thing in common, and you get additional topics for discussion," Clark suggested. Normally she disdained small talk, seeing it as little more than a petty formality, and more generally as a waste of time, but the genuine interest which Darjeeling appeared to have in what she had to say convinced the normally taciturn 2IC to carry on trading words with her.

"My goodness, what a splendid notion. I'll make sure to put it to Pekoe later when we get the chance. Perchance have you done this before with someone? It's a very inventive suggestion."

Angela shrugged. "Not really, I just find that if you can get common ground between two people it's that much easier for them to understand each other, you know?" She glanced over at Pearce, who offered her an imperceptible nod in return. "But in any relationship, it has to be reciprocal if both parties are to benefit, so sharing seems the best option."

Darjeeling nodded in agreement, before turning to the third party at the table. "What about you Mr Pearce? Are there any literary suggestions that you might have for me? If Miss Clark is anything to go by, you must be quite well-read too."

"I fear I have little to add, at least from a classical literary perspective," Pearce admitted, a hint of regret entering his tone, "I have read some classic works, like Conan-Doyle or Tolkien, but that was some time ago. More recently my library has been occupied by the military classics – Sun Tzu, Clausewitz, Vegetius, and they make for poor recreational reading for most people. I'm sure you could recommend good literature far better than I."

"I am sure the texts you have read have application and wisdom aplenty," Darjeeling replied sagely. "Perhaps if you would like, I could suggest a few to you? Although I doubt my input is needed, your second seems to have a fine grasp of the classics herself. Maybe you should consult her."

"Miss Clark is a lady of many qualities Miss Darjeeling, and has proven herself utterly indispensable time and again. I think I will rely on her aid on this topic, assuming you are willing, Angela?" Pearce looked at Clark, who had flushed somewhat in embarrassment, but managed a firm nod and a steely-faced expression in response. "Although, I would appreciate your input as well if you would. I've found that one should never turn down help, especially in pursuit of bettering oneself."

"Then I would be most pleased to assist."

The cadets stayed with the St Gloriana girls for a further half an hour, with other members of the latter team coming and going, simply enjoying the pleasant company of the impeccably well-mannered girls. However, all good things must eventually come to an end, as this particular event did when Ceylon alerted Darjeeling that everything was packed for transit back to the Ark Royal. Taking this as their cue to leave, the cadets vacated their seats and boarded their transport, offering their thanks and farewells to their gracious hosts. After saying a final goodbye to Darjeeling, who had said that she would come to watch Wellesley's next match, the cadets headed to the airfield, where their transport awaited to convey them home, and for the entire journey back to the academy, Pearce wore an almost unnoticeable smile on his face. For the first time, he felt like he was genuinely building bridges, rather than burning them. He only hoped he could finish their construction.

**Chapter End**

**Omake**

**Atlas Transport – Somewhere in the Arafura Sea – 1430hrs**

"Miss Alexander, may I have a word with you?" Pearce asked, his voice slightly raised to carry above the loud rattling of the Atlas' airframe. As the transport had levelled out, he'd taken off his seatbelt and now stood opposite the gunner of Marlborough team, steadying himself on the hull of their APC, which occupied the cargo space with them.

Chloe merely shrugged, removing her seatbelt and accompanying Pearce a short distance up the aircraft's hold, away from the ears of their comrades.

"So, what do you want Pearce?" she asked neutrally. She could care less what the boy wanted, but it would be impolite not to hear him out.

"I want to spar with you when we get back to the academy."

Chloe cocked her head to one side. "What?"

"I want to spar with you when we get back to the academy," Pearce repeated, slightly louder this time to make sure she heard it.

"Yes, I got that," Chloe replied dryly, "What I want to know is why?" The question had come entirely out of left field for the re-enactor girl, which explained her one word answer initially, but now her confusion had cleared up somewhat, she was curious as to Pearce's motives.

"You're quite clearly the best fighter we've got in our year, and you know what you're doing. I want to spar with you so I can improve, because you would have won our duel had you not tripped. You were quite obviously superior to me, and I want to get better. So I'm asking if you would spar with me on occasion."

Chloe pondered the request for a second. She may have disliked Pearce, but she personally enjoyed sparring, and the Wellesley commander was reasonably good himself, so she saw no reason to turn him down.

"Alright, you've got a deal."

**Omake End**

**There we are, one more chapter down. I know it's late, it's also not quite what I was expecting myself either. To be frank this just blossomed out of a few ideas and my personal habit of trying to write realistic-ish conversations – the dialogues just kept going on and on till they reached a natural conclusion, although I personally did enjoy writing them. However, the lack of plan and script did slow me down a bit. If you enjoyed it, or have anything you'd like to comment on, you can leave a review, even without an account, I like gauging people's reactions. If you have an account you can also PM me and I'll get back to you pretty quickly.**

**Anyway, I'm not going to make any promises about the next chapter as this month is going to be really busy for me – work, re-enactment stuff, concerts, Masters Applications, all these different drains on my time might slow me down. But don't worry, I'll keep working on this story, even if it takes me a little longer to complete. Maybe over summer I'll be able to do some catch-up.**

**Until next time,**

**HereticalShinigami**


	26. Chapter 26: R&R

**Hey there guys! I know this chapter is hitting late again, but I've been really busy over the last few weeks (something that isn't changing any time soon), and I've not really had the time or the motivation to start writing a new chapter. However, I'm still in fighting condition (mostly), and after the Sabaton/Alestorm concert yesterday (27/2) I'm feeling pretty pumped up so I thought I'd get back to work on this story. If you don't know who Alestorm or Sabaton are, you should look them up, they're great, although if you're a history lover and like metal, chances are you probably know who they are already. I also got my masters offer, so it looks like I'm staying in education for a while longer, albeit at a different university.**

**I've also noted that the poll I've had going for ages on your favourite teams from Wellesley has had very few responses. C'mon, I want to know what you guys want more of, and I can't do that with so few replies! (especially since it's tied) **

**This chapter is going to be a little bit more light-hearted, a little more relaxed, as I want to build a little more into the different characters that make up my team. There's not going to be much action, so be forewarned, and make sure to check for cavities after reading, since I've tried to make this fluff sickeningly sweet. So let's dive back into the GuP universe for a new chapter.**

**Chapter Start**

**Saturday, February 15****th**** – Carrier Dauntless, Wellesley Royal Military Academy – 1100hrs**

Having returned to the ship tired from the heat in Port Headland and the long, uncomfortable journey there and back, the cadets who had gone to watch St Gloriana's match had been quickly debriefed by Captain Hart before being dismissed so they could get food and rest. The little group in particular had been looking forward to a lie-in, given that they had the day off today. As a result, a still somewhat sleepy Pearce was making himself a wakeup cup of tea when a knock came at his door. Leaving the kettle brewing, he placed a second cup out on the counter top before going to greet his guest. Knowing that the usual suspect would likely also be asleep, even at this hour of the day, Pearce was nevertheless pleasantly surprised to find Jo on the other side of the door, dressed in civvies – jeans, navy blue blouse and a cream cardigan.

"Good morning."

"Is this a bad time? I can come back in a bit," the comms officer said, noting that Pearce was still in pyjamas and a dressing gown.

"Not at all. If you don't mind waiting a few minutes, I will go and make myself presentable. Do come in," Sam answered, beckoning the girl into the dorm room. "Tea? I was just making one myself."

Receiving a nod in return, Pearce took the kettle, now boiled, and poured two cups, one for himself, the other for his guest, and laid them out on the table before vanishing into his bedroom with a quick "take a seat". Jo made herself comfortable, and a short two minutes later Pearce emerged from his room, a plain black fleece and green combats having replaced his sleepwear. He sat down opposite his teammate and took a long draught of his tea, (Earl Grey, the best morning brew,) before addressing Jo.

"So, what did you want to see me about?" he asked. It was unusual for any of his friends to visit him on the weekend, so this was unknown ground for him.

"Since we don't have a match next week, and there aren't any exams going on, I wanted to see if you fancied going for a drink with us or something," Jo said, "I'm going to fetch some of the others on the way. So, are you up for it?" Although Jo sounded cheerful, she wasn't expecting much, so her features didn't betray any hint of disappointment when Pearce's brow furrowed.

"That seems acceptable. I have nothing pressing to do today."

"Well fine, that's no- whaaaaat?" Having fully expected the somewhat anti-social Pearce to pass up the opportunity to spend time with his friends, Jo found herself doing something of a double take. Pearce raised an eyebrow at her flabbergasted expression.

"I said that your idea seems commendable. Did I do something wrong?" Pearce replied, now thoroughly confused.

"Nope, no, definitely not! Now, let's get going," Jo said, half-dragging her teammate to the door before he could change his mind.

"Can I at least put my shoes on first?"

A short few minutes later, Jo having relented to allow Pearce to retrieve necessary items like keys, wallet and, heaven forbid, shoes, the pair departed to the small commercial area of the carrier. As Wellesley was a military academy rather than a public school there were comparatively few civilians living aboard, only enough to maintain facilities and shops, rather than the thriving township that Oarai's carrier had by comparison. Those who were allowed to maintain businesses on the carrier were also strongly vetted to preserve security, and their establishments were mainly confined to a small area usually referred to as 'the logistics hub', although the foot traffic through such a dense area had led others to jokingly label it as Collateral Corner due to the target-rich environment. Sam and Jo made their way there via a circuitous route, picking up the rest of Montgomery team, and a few others, on the way.

"Ara, what are we thinking for food?" Liam asked, suppressing a yawn. "Something sugary sounds good to me, it's too early to be up at time, especially on a Saturday."

The lazy gunner's words seemed to ring more true when one surveyed him, Liam's state of attire suggesting that his friends had indeed dragged him out of bed. A haphazardly thrown-on white t-shirt and scruffy jeans complemented a haircut that seemed styled exclusively by the bed covers, giving Liam that much-coveted 'I just woke up' look.

"Sure, I think we can get cake at one of the cafes," Jo replied, "They make shortbread too if that tempts you."

"A couple dozen of those should be fine."

"Make sure to have a couple of gallons of coffee with it," Chris drawled from the back of their little group, "Got to make sure you definitely don't sleep tonight."

"You must not know Liam that well," Andrew shot back. "It takes nothing less than a bloody bomb going off to wake him up, and he falls asleep at the drop of a hat, caffeine and sugar be damned. It was hard enough to get him to wake up for this, and it's nearly noon!"

"Oi," Liam replied, sounded vaguely indignant, "That's only partially true."

"Oh yeah?"

While the pair broken down into a duel of barbed comments, the rest of the party were chatting amicably among themselves. Chris and Katherine were conversing quietly at the back of the group, whilst Pearce gave Stephen and Jo a rundown of what they'd seen the previous day at the St Gloriana match, before the latter filled him in on what the rest of the team had done in practice. Apparently, with Wellesley in all likelihood facing Kuromorimine in the next round, Captain Hart had acquired some of the original identification charts used for training British tankers, and spent a while detailing to the crews where the weak points on various German tank models were. Jo had also pointed out that it helped increase Montgomery team's knowledge about their own vehicle too, given that it was much the same as Maho's Tiger 212.

"That reminds me," Pearce said, "We should probably go over the Tigerfibel a few times too. It has some useful tips for operating the Tiger in it."

"Tigerfibel?"

"Yes, it's an instruction manual for operating the tank. It's quite…. unique, a lot of pictures and jokes. I think there's a copy of it in one of the storage lockers, but if not we can always get Captain Hart to procure another one for us."

"That might be useful," Stephen agreed, "But enough talking about work, we're here."

The logistics hub was primarily confined to a small courtyard/shopping centre style space, with two levels of shops arrayed around a central square with benches and a few flower beds. As expected, there were quite a few cadets there, it being a calm, sunny Saturday. Skirting round the edge of the square, the group headed for a cosy-looking café with outdoor seating. An eye-catching sign above the entrance named the place as 'Rosy Lee's'. Inside it was surprisingly homely, filled with long trestle tables and oaken chairs, while a hearth, thankfully unlit in this warm weather, dominated one wall. In front of the other a long glass-fronted counter displayed all manner of sweets, while the scent of coffee and cooking meat wafted out of the kitchen.

"Inside or outside?" Chris asked as they approached the threshold.

"I'm thinking in, I like the comfort in there," Andrew said.

"Plus, it might go cold later. I'm feeling nippy now," Katherine added.

"You're always cold though," Chris jested. He cast a look round at the rest of the group, receiving mostly shrugs in response. "But sure, I can go for inside."

The little party followed Wavell team's captain into the café, where he immediately spotted and made a beeline for a table large enough for all of them, with a couple of seats to spare. Liam speedily claimed a spot on the bench along the wall, where he could sprawl out in comfort, leaving the rest of his colleagues to take their own seats before pulling up a menu. The food on offer was hardly a complex affair, mostly just simple entrees and sandwiches, but as an establishment on a military school's ship one would hardly expect refined cuisine. In small groups, the cadets got up and ordered their meals, and eclectic mix of foodstuffs slowly made its way back to the table. As he'd claimed, Liam had stocked up on the shortbread on offer at the counter, at least a dozen fingers of the sweet treat on a plate in front of him, with a massive pot of coffee accompanying. However, it did seem that the massive dose of caffeine and sugar had broken the usually lethargic gunner of his fugue.

Returning to her seat next to Pearce, Jo asked, "So Sam, what did you get?"

Pearce merely raised an eyebrow as the comms officer took in the pot of tea in front of her superior, something that was in and of itself self-explanatory.

"Lapsang Souchong, if you were wondering. And a chicken mayo sandwich to go with it. Yourself?"

"I've got a ham and cheese panini on the way, and some orange juice," Jo replied. "I might be tempted by some of the strawberry tart later though."

"Would you recommend it? I'm not so well-acquainted with this establishment."

"I would say it's nice, but how much do you like strawberry?" Well aware that Pearce did not frequent the logistics hub for much save academic supplies and groceries, Jo had come prepared to answer his queries, amongst other gambits, in order to help coax the Wellesley commander out of his workaholic tendencies.

"I'm not opposed to it."

"Well if I get some later, would you like to try a piece, see if you want a slice of your own?" Jo said, offering a smile to the bespectacled cadet. "You can always pay me back with a piece of yours later."

"That sounds lovely, thank you," Pearce replied gratefully, helping himself to a sip of his fragrant tea. "Are there any other desserts you believe I might like?"

"I don't think anyone can go far wrong with chocolate cake. They do a delicious double-layered gateau here, just take a peek at the far end of the counter."

Craning his neck to one side curiously, Sam spotted the treat in question nestled amongst the other chocolatey puddings on display. A fabulous layer of chocolate fudge preceded three different sets of sponge and chocolate filling, with a decadent few pieces of dark chocolate fondant on top. He licked his lips unconsciously, only to blush in embarrassment when he heard Jo giggle at him.

"So are you having a piece of that later?" Jo asked, a twinkle of mirth discernible in her voice.

"Maybe."

A couple of minutes later, Jo's sandwich arrived, as did a few other items that their colleagues had ordered, and for a short while, comparative silence reigned over the table, broken by a scant few comments and the clatter of cutlery. At length, Pearce stood up and headed to the counter, evidently out of tea and now devoid of sandwich too. Whilst he was occupied with what she guessed was purchasing the chocolate cake she had recommended earlier, Jo was addressed by Chris.

"You know, you've just got to tell me how you did it. It's like pulling teeth to get Pearce to come out with us for anything, specially in public settings. So, go on, share your secrets," said the captain of Wavell team, looking somewhere between amused and genuinely intrigued. Jo shifted uncomfortably.

"I'm not sure I could tell you. I just kinda asked," Jo replied honestly. She was entirely unsure why her normally reserved friend had assented to her invitation, it wasn't as if she'd done anything particularly special. But at least it seemed like he'd been enjoying himself somewhat, if her observations were anything to go by thus far. Jo had initially had some apprehensions when the others present had raised the idea yesterday, since she didn't want to be dragging Sam out for something he didn't want to do. Perhaps she hadn't considered that it was this sort of considerate behaviour that made Pearce trust her in the first place.

"I don't know, it seems like you have a special way with our fearless leader," Chris said, his usual teasing drawl slipping back into place.

"Oh, quit teasing her," Katherine interjected, swatting her boyfriend on the arm. "Maybe the secret is just asking nicely, rather than bugging the person to death like you seem to enjoy. Ever thought of that?"

"But it's more fun that way!" Chris protested.

"For you maybe! Now be quiet and eat your food, you menace."

As the now-chastised captain resumed devouring his meal, a massive bacon sandwich, Pearce returned to the table, another pot of tea in one hand and a hefty slice of cake in the other. He arched an eyebrow at the scene.

"So how long did it take for Chris to start terrorising people once I left the table?"

"About ten seconds," Katherine replied.

"A new record."

"Why are you guys so mean?" Chris wailed, crocodile tears running down his face.

The mock hurt went unanswered as his friends turned back to their food, all apart from Liam, who was slumped in his seat, seemingly comatose despite the massive amount of sugar and caffeine now circulating his system. A few crumbs betrayed that Wellesley's gunner had devoured the entire plate of shortbread. Next to him, Andrew was polishing off what looked to be a sharing platter of various kinds of meat with a side salad and a patently enormous coke, all the while conversing with Stephen about the football league, in which the quiet driver was taking a polite interest. Jo meanwhile had acquired some of the strawberry tart she had mentioned earlier, and was demolishing it with gusto, although had the decency to look embarrassed when Pearce adopted an almost stunned expression at the pace of the dessert's disappearance.

"You have some on your cheek," he pointed out, causing the comms operator to flush slightly before dabbing at her cheek with a napkin. "Wrong one." Eventually Jo got the errant bit of dessert topping, before mumbling a quiet thanks. A pleasant silence reigned between the two for a while, before Pearce spoke.

"You know, Joanna, though I've known you for a while, I don't think I actually know that much about you beyond some of your hobbies. I do hope I'm not being impolite or prying in anyway," the bespectacled cadet said. Jo waved the concern off.

"No, it's no problem at all," she replied, actually quite happy to share. "What would you like to know?"

"Anything you think interesting, really. There's a lot I don't know about you, even with us having been in the same class for more than two years."

"Hmmmm," Jo said as she pondered her response, "Well my birthday is on the 15th of May, I'm from Nottingham originally, and I have two siblings, one brother, one sister, both of whom are older than me. I'm pretty average at maths subjects, as you might have noticed, and my favourite subject was always English Lit. That fill any blanks for ya?" She tilted her head to one side and grinned as she said the last sentence.

"Very helpful, although I feel like that covers the very basics only. Perhaps we can pencil in some detail as well, like what types of music you enjoy, or the books you like reading." Pearce leaned on the table, a look of interest on his face even as he polished off another few spoonfuls of his chocolate cake, before wiping his mouth with the napkin.

"I'm not really sure what my favourite kind of music is," the brunette replied, "You already know I play banjo, it's kind of a thing I picked up from my dad, but I really don't mind most kinds of music, nothing too heavy or outlandish though. As for books, I'm always up for a good novel, preferably fantasy but I'm not overly fussed. To Kill A Mockingbird did stick with me from high school though."

"I can't remember being overly enamoured with it when we studied it in school, although it did have some more profound connotations to it. Of Mice and Men was much the same in that regard, a superb text, but I don't think it suited my preferences."

"Well what sort of books suit you then?" Jo asked. "I can always lend you some if you like, I brought quite a few with me when I moved here."

"I'm not particularly fussy, although I prefer historical-themed works, and usually with a bit of action. I've mostly been reading histories, treatises and technical manuals recently though, for obvious reasons."

Jo racked her memory to determine if she had any books of that kind in her collection. Settling on a suitable candidate a moment later, she smiled.

"Yeah, I reckon I've got some of those. If we drop by mine on the way back, I'll give you a few to try out."

"That would be lovely, thank you."

"Eh, no need to thank me. I've got to give you something in your spare time, you workaholic. I can't just let you sit there slaving away at work all the time."

"I am not a workaholic," Pearce replied primly, only for Jo to mimic him and arch an eyebrow in return. "Much."

"Knowing that you will dispute me no matter how much evidence I present, I'm putting it to a vote," Jo said, "Those who believe Sam is a workaholic raise your hands." Within seconds, not a single digit was left on the table, even as the rest of the group carried on their own conversations. "The motion carries." Pearce affected a perturbed look.

"I am not that bad," he said firmly.

"Oh yes you are," she answered, folding her arms and staring at Pearce. Under the harsh glare of his counterpart, Pearce wilted at little. It was rare to see Jo so firm about anything, and she was downright scary when those usually caring eyes became hardened with purpose. "You can't deny it mister, you spend too much time working."

"You know why I need to keep my grades up."

Jo sighed. There was the obstacle that they just couldn't overcome. The quiet, reclusive part of Pearce's personality could be worked on through patience and kindness, but it was impossible to remove that other element that prevented the boy from engaging more with his fellow cadets; the looming spectre of potential removal from the academy. It was difficult to criticise Sam's work habits since they helped keep him at Wellesley, but Jo was convinced that they were unhealthy – they'd clearly stunted his social growth somewhat.

"C'mon Sam, you've got the highest grades in the class, right next to Angela, surely spending a little bit more time relaxing wouldn't hurt?"

It was an ancient plea by this point, almost certain to acquire either a polite refusal or an evasive excuse.

"That was my purpose in coming out today. I…" Pearce hesitated for a moment, looking somewhat nervous. "I really enjoy spending time with you guys, it's just I don't think I can afford to ever slack off. And if I'm honest…" he only got halfway through the statement before clamming up, unwilling to say any more.

"Look, Sam, if you feel uncomfortable or worried, you can always talk to us. We've said it before, we're here for you if you need it," Jo said, wearing a heartfelt expression, "If you want to finish what you were about to say later, have a cup of tea when we pass mine to pick up those books, and we can chat, just you and me, ok?" In return for the kind words, Jo received one of the most grateful looks she'd ever seen.

"Thank you," Pearce replied quietly.

"Now, would like to try some of the strawberry tart? I left a small slice for you," the comms officer offered with a beaming smile, changing the subject to one more pleasant.

"That would be delightful," her counterpart answered, taking the proffered spoon and swallowing a piece of the tasty treat. "Hmm, quite tart, but still very sweet. Not bad. Although I'm of the opinion the chocolate cake is still more delightful, see for yourself." Pearce offered a spoonful of his sugary dessert to his bubbly teammate, who took it graciously.

"Mmm, that is good. The tart was still better though."

"That is absurd. Clearly the cake is superior."

"Nope! The tart was far better."

"Oh my dear misguided Joanna, how wrong you are…" Pearce scoffed, earning him a serious look from his counterpart. However, before she could offer a retort, a new person entered the conversation.

"Oh, what have we got here? Lover's tiff?" a voice interjected. Both Jo and Pearce turned to glare at Chris, who had a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

"Be quiet."

"Shut up."

"My friends are so mean!" Chris wailed, more fake tears streaming forth in mock hurt.

Taylor's fake crying was cut short by Katherine giving him another smack on the arm and a stern look, the mere sight of which had him sat ramrod-straight in his seat, hands one over the other on his lap, gazing straight ahead.

"Well now Chris has interrupted your conversation anyway, I feel it is best to ask if you guys are ready to go or not," Katherine said, "Unless you want more cake," she added with a smile.

"No, I think we're done here," Jo answered, looking around and receiving affirmations from all of the other cadets at the table, "Shall we adjourn to the park or something?"

"How about a wander round the ship?" Andrew suggested. "I want to stretch my legs."

"Sure."

"Cool."

With a clear consensus established, the gaggle of friends left their seats at the café, and headed out into the pleasant sunshine that filtered through the layer of cloud that had previously blanketed the sky. It was there that they spotted Clinton team, and a couple of cadets they recognised from other classes, sat at the outside tables. Since the pair were lads, they guessed that they might be Sean's friends

"Hey there!" Alice chirped, giving the other cadets a cheery wave. "Fancy seeing you guys here!"

"Same to you," Katherine replied, "I'm surprised we didn't spot you come inside to order, if we had we would have invited you to sit with us."

"Eh, no sweat," the boisterous gunner said, before smacking her forehead as if she'd forgotten something, "Oh yeah, these two lads, who you may or may not recognise are on the operational intelligence course. There's Alan," she pointed to a tall lad with severely cropped hair and a mousy moustache, "And Louis." This time Alice indicated a waifish lad with blonde hair and quite the androgynous look about him. Both of the boys nodded a greeting. "Anyway, where are ya off to now?"

"Just a walk round the ship."

"Ooh, sounds nice, especially since the weather's turning nice again. We'll not keep you then."

"Sure, see you later then," Katherine offered, before addressing the two new faces. "Nice to meet you two as well."

The little group of cadets were just weaving their way out of the labyrinth of seating when they heard a shout back from where Clinton team were sitting.

"Oh, and Katherine, Chris, don't forget, band practice is on this evening at seven, the usual place!"

Katherine spun on the spot and raised her hand to give a thumbs up, before continuing on her way. It did not take for her friends to raise questions on the topic.

"So how is your little band going?" Andrew asked, as they began to make their way towards the shopping area's exit. "Learnt anything cool yet?"

"We've been experimenting with different sounds and ideas, but we're in a bit of a rut at the moment because we have no bass player to lay a rhythm down for us." Their band had most of the ingredients needed for a good sound; two guitarists in Sean and Caitlin, a vocalist in Alice, a keyboardist in Katherine, Chris on the drums, and Rosie writing their music, but there was just that one key component missing. "We're actually thinking of putting something up on the message boards to see if there's anyone in the academy that wants to join us."

"Bummer," the loader said. "Well, you'll probably find someone who can play bass, we're a pretty large school, so the odds are relatively good."

"Yeah, I suppose."

The group had just reached the edge of the Logistics Hub when a loud crash and the tinkling of breaking glass grabbed their attention. All eyes were cast at the source of the noise, where a great deal of raucous shouting and thuds could be heard, a homely-looking stone building with a sign over the door, depicting a caricatured redcoat in huge boots, that said 'The Wellington'. The object that had caused the crash, an ale tankard, sailed out of the window and rolled to a stop by Liam's boot.

"Oh good, it seems they're back at it again," Chris drawled.

"Hmmm?" Pearce said. "Is this a frequent occurrence?"

"Well there's only a few bars at this academy, and this is pretty much the cheapest pub of them, so it's always packed. But the navy lads that help run the ship go here too, so it's rare to see a week go by without some kinda brawl, y'know what inter-service rivalry is like. This one seems a little more… involved that most of the others though."

Chris would have elaborated further, but a few more assorted projectiles came sailing through the windows, a few shards of glass with them, one of which nicked Andrew's cheek before clattering to the ground.

"Shitting buggering hell!" the afflicted man cursed, clasping a hand to his cheek, which had a couple of trails of blood now running down it. "That stings."

Another projectile soon came flying out of the pub, albeit a rather larger one, through the door this time. It was Connor, the communicator for Russell team, and like his peers he had shed his uniform for civvies, in Connor's case a rugby shirt, which had a conspicuous but small red stain on the shoulder. The lad eventually came sprawling to a stop about five yards from the door, an impressive throw by anyone's standards. Stephen went and picked him up by his collar and set him back on his feet, to which the comms officer offered a quick thanks. Just as he was about to go back in and carry on, Connor was addressed by Pearce.

"Mr MacNeill, would you mind explaining what is going on in there?" he enquired politely.

"Well as it turns out a lot of the Navy lads, being based in Plymouth and all, quite like the Exeter Chiefs, and they're playing the Saracens today. A few drinks were had on each side, and then a couple of bantering comments were made, and then," Connor gestured to the pub, "this happened."

"So who's fighting who at the moment?"

"It's a bit of a free-for-all really, but it was originally our lads, the rugby team, and a dozen or so of the navy lads, but the collateral damage dragged more people in. There's maybe forty or so all told in there I'd reckon, although more than a few were laid out before…"

"You were laid out?"

"Yeah. Now if you don't mind, I'll be getting back in there."

As Connor disappeared back into the dingy depths of the pub, Pearce glanced at his comrades in order to gauge their opinion on a course of action. Chris raised an eyebrow in response as his bespectacled CO looked at each person in turn.

"You thinking you want to go in there? Maybe knock some sense into a few idiots?" the laidback cadet drawled. Pearce pondered the idea for a moment before shaking his head.

"Although it's a tempting thought, as we could ensure our teammates remain uninjured, it also exposes all of us to danger too, and I don't believe that it would be worth it. I would imagine that there's also a strong chance with it getting out of hand like this that we'll see the MPs down here sooner rather than later."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right. Well then, no sense in waiting about here then."

The group carried on on their route out of the shopping area, and had made it about 50 yards before the grumbling of engines heralded the arrival of two APCs on the nearby road, followed by a pair of trucks. The little convoy ground to a stop directly next to the pub, the access hatches slamming open, before two sections of black-uniformed troopers with red berets disembarked, carrying batons and holstered sidearms. They formed up quickly and disappeared into the establishment, where the sound of fighting came to a stop within minutes. As the septet looked on, the troopers reappeared, escorting groups of dishevelled cadets, both army and navy, out from the Wellington. The gaggle of subdued brawlers included the lads from Russell team, who were placed with their mates, all of whom were wearing rugby shirts too.

"It's a good job we didn't go in there after all," Liam remarked, "Or we'd be being dragged out by the military police too. I don't particularly fancy wasting my afternoon getting a talking to from them."

"Well at least from the looks of it nobody got badly injured," Katherine said, "So I guess we're not going to be down any crew members going into the semi-finals."

The captured cadets were rapidly loaded into the back of the two trucks, before the entire convoy got underway again, vanishing as swiftly as they'd arrived. Such was the nature of discipline at the academy, lax for relatively minor infractions, swift and uncompromising for larger disturbances. There was no regular police force preserving order, not with so small a civilian population, so the task of peacekeeping fell to the Royal Military Police, of which there was a detachment stationed aboard, and the academy provosts, who dealt with cadet infractions specifically. Now the RMP had hauled the offenders away, they would be separated according to their branch and dealt with accordingly by their own disciplinary officers.

Once the column was out of sight, the gaggle of friends got moving once more, actually making it out of the shopping quarter without incident this time. They headed towards the starboard side of the ship, aiming to start their walk there and then make their way around the outer edge of the carrier, from where they could view the sea.

"You know, when I see the sea, it just relaxes me. I could fall asleep out here no problem if it were a nice warm day," Liam commented.

"Where can't you fall asleep?" Andrew jested.

"Anywhere you keep running your mouth."

"Why didn't you join the naval cadets if you like the sea so much?" Chris asked.

"Have you seen the size of the bunks they have on-board most ships? They're freaking tiny. I'd much prefer my own bed, so much more comfy." Somehow all of Liam's friends knew that sleeping arrangements would factor into his answer. "There's also the fact that holidays are better here, and it offered a curriculum that more suited my interests."

"You said something about triage qualifications the other day," Katherine chipped in, "How's that going for you?"

"Not too bad, I'm nearly qualified for basic anyway. You have to wait until seniors to go into any advanced field medicine so it's a start."

"Let's just hope you don't have to patch any of us up soon," Chris joked.

The group continued their wandering, following the outer rail all the way around the ship, the area around which was kept as a green space, lined with trees and neatly kept flowerbeds. It was a pleasant walk as the sun slowly reached its zenith, providing a nice warmth to the day despite a few lingering clouds.

"Oi, Sam, I've just remembered something, you owe me a chess match, remember?" Liam said. Pearce looked at the gunner quizzically.

"Do I?"

"Yeah yeah, it was back near the start of term and you said that you'd play a match against me at some point."

"If you say so. Now though?" Liam swatted Pearce's arm.

"No, not now. What, were you expecting me to magically put a chess set out of my jacket or something?"

"Given your propensity for hiding snacks and energy drinks in your uniform, I would not have put it past you," Pearce replied dryly.

"What? Me? Never," Liam said, with heavy sarcasm. "Oh how your accusations wound me so."

"They might wound you a little less if you didn't have the top of that cookie packet glaring over the lip of your coat pocket." Pearce indicated the colourful red wrapper sticking out from Liam's right-hand pocket. Liam plucked the offending item out from the depths of his coat, and helped himself to one, reminded of the biscuits' presence. He then offered the packet to his comrades, who waved off the offer.

"Let's be honest, without him carrying sugar all the time, we'd find him asleep in his gunner's seat," Jo joked.

"I don't think Andrew would have any problem waking him up for us, eh Andrew?" said Pearce. The statement sounded more like a threat than a harmless comment, especially with the devilish grin Andrew was now sporting, which promised pain. Liam gulped.

"Now boys, don't terrify him too much," Katherine interjected, "Or his hand will be shaking all over the place in the next match and he won't hit anything."

"Awww," Andrew said.

"Anyway," Pearce cut in, "We'll have that chess match after the next training session, is that acceptable?"

"Sure," Liam drawled, "Your place or mine?"

"You may as well come to mine," the Wellesley commander said, "If the rest of you wish to come around for a meal, that is also fine." The offer caught the others a little flatfooted, as it was the first such offer that Pearce had made. Any visits made to the bespectacled cadet's dormitory were often short-lived or perfunctory, rather than congenial. It was Chris that recovered first, offering his friend a toothy grin.

"Sounds pretty great to me! Even more so that we don't have to go round Liam's, you can barely see the floor in there for the mess."

"Like you have any room to talk," Katherine shot back caustically. It was a bit of a bugbear between the couple that neither of the pair liked the other's habits towards cleaning. Katherine, like with many things, verged on the compulsive with her cleaning, and there was nary a speck of dust out of place in her dorm, whilst Chris was a little more… lax. It would not be a rare occasion to find the odd sock on the kitchen counter in Chris's room, although mercifully he was somewhat less relaxed about his laundry regime.

"I'll have you know that I cleaned everything the other day," Chris sniffed.

"So the mess is just in your bedroom now, rather than everywhere?"

"Err…"

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Moving on," Chris said hastily, before adopting a bit of a mischievous expression. "So Sam, how are you and Angie doing? I know you've been spending a lot of time with each other."

"We are getting along just fine thank you," Pearce replied neutrally. "Nor should it surprise you that we spend a great deal of time in each other's company, Angela is my second-in-command. The only person in this group who has been spending an odd amount of time in someone's company is Andrew."

The others gaped, while Andrew flushed a vibrant red. Soon, five sets of eyes homed in on him expectantly. The loader shrank in on himself, wishing he could just disappear from the inevitable embarrassment this conversation would cause him.

"Well then Andrew, care ta spill for us?" Chris grinned. This was going to be good teasing material for later.

"I don't know what he's talking about," Andrew stammered, although his denial was entirely unconvincing.

"So Sam's just making it up is he?"

"Now that's not what I said," the loader denied frantically, looking more and more like a deer in the headlights as he glanced over at Pearce, who merely raised an eyebrow at him, although there was a clear hint of amusement about Andrew's diminutive friend.

"So which is it? Do tell," Liam said, getting in on the teasing with Chris.

"Um, um, um, I, err, kinda, havebeenspendingabitmoretimewithSarah!" Andrew shouted, panicking a little under the pressure of his friends' gazes. Chris and Liam looked at each other with confused expressions.

"Um, slower please."

"Well," Andrew said, calming himself somewhat, "I've been spending some time with Sarah, y'know, the loader from Hobart team, and we get along really well."

"Oh," Chris said, a cheeky grin spreading across his face again, "I see. Care to share some of the juicy details?"

While Andrew cringed under the relentless barrage of teasing from Liam and Chris, Katherine turned to Pearce, a curious look on her face.

"How did you know Andrew had something going with Sarah?"

"Elliot."

"Ah."

The little group spent much of the next few hours just enjoying their stroll, making small talk and discussing anything other than work. Sometimes life at the academy could just get a bit too onerous, as the workload and schedule were quite demanding. With tankery on top of their usual studies, and a match to prepare for almost every week, it was nice to have a day off and just relax. And that they did, wandering through the pleasant green belt that encircled the Dauntless' outer perimeter. With the sun up and the warmth of the day tolerable, it was unsurprising that many cadets had the same idea, and the route was positively bustling with their peers, some cycling, a few others walking about, and some just chilling on the grass. Every so often a cooling breeze rolled in from the ocean around them. Eventually the septet chanced upon an ice cream parlour, set just in from the green belt. Run by the academy authorities, it was one of the few stores not confined to the Logistics Hub, as it had been realised it would be terribly inconvenient for every single amenity at Wellesley to be restricted to one area.

"Anyone fancy a cone?" Chris offered. "It's a nice day after all."

"I could murder a chocolate double scoop," Andrew said.

As they opened the door to the parlour, a small bell above the door tinkled to herald their entry. The little shop's interior was set up in a smooth American diner style, comfy booth tables with high-backed red leather seats, a chrome counter and blue and white tiled floors. A cheerful redhead was the first staff member behind the counter to look up, and offered a beaming smile to the prospective customers.

"Hi there, and welcome to Cone with the Wind! I'm Abigail, I'll be your server for today. First things first, would you like to sit-in or take-out?" One quick discussion later gave the gaggle of friends their answer.

"We'll sit-in please." Katherine was set on a sundae, so sit-in it was.

"No problem, right this way."

Stepping out from behind the counter, Abigail escorted them to a wider empty booth towards one end of the shop, before offering them a plethora of menus, fanning them out like a Vegas card dealer.

"We've got our standard options here, special sundaes here, and other refreshments are on the back. I'll just leave you for a minute so you can decide on what you want." She waltzed off with a cheery hum, whilst the cadets chose an icy treat from the menu. It took a few minutes, as the parlour actually had quite the selection, but eventually Abigail reappeared for them to order.

"Ready to order?"

"Yes," Katherine replied, "We'll have two fudge sundaes, three double scoops with sprinkles, one strawberry, one chocolate, one vanilla, a banana split and a knickerbocker glory."

"Of course, no problem, I'll be right back with those."

The redhead collected the group's menus and vanished behind the counter to get their ice cream, humming cheerfully as she did so. As she did so, the little group carried on with the conversation they'd been having before they walked in.

"Look Stephen, Alexander the Great was not the greatest general in history," Andrew insisted, "That title belongs to Hannibal Barca. Study their campaigns side by side and the difference in skill is obvious."

"Both of your arguments have merits," Chris interjected, "Alexander did conquer at great speeds and suffered almost no setbacks despite being outnumbered heavily in a vast majority of his battles, but equally his army was far better trained by comparison than the enemies he faced. Hannibal on the other hand took a ragtag force of mercenaries and barbarians across the Alps against some of the best trained troops in the world, but ultimately lost. Either way you're both wrong, because Gustavus Adolphus was the best general."

With that, Chris sat back in his seat, revelling in the results of him winding Andrew up with a shit-eating grin on his face, a furious tirade directed at him by Montgomery's loader. Stephen was not so easily wound up though, so neglected to join in.

Watching the drama unfold at the other end of the table, Jo glanced at Pearce, who had decided not to weigh in on the argument, although she was certain that he might have wanted to say something. Instead, Wellesley's commander was looking at the café's wall-mounted TV.

"Hey Sam, whatcha looking at? Is there something interesting on?" Pearce shook his head.

"No, but it seems there is an item on tankery coming up, which concerns me, because if it is news-worthy it might be something important."

Jo shuffled round a little bit so she could also get a view of the TV, just as Abigail arrived with the group's ice creams. Just as she was picking up her serving tray to leave, Pearce asked "Miss Abigail, would it be too much trouble for you to put the sound on on the TV? I would like to listen to the next few pieces of news if that's no bother." Abigail beamed.

"Of course, no problem at all. Just give me a holler when you've heard what you need to, the manager doesn't like the sound on for too long." She vanished behind the counter again, reappearing with a remote before unmuting the sound on the TV. The waitress offered a final beaming grin before moving on to serve some other patrons, while Pearce turned his attention to the news. It didn't take too long for the newsreader, a dark-skinned gentleman with greying hair and a well-cut suit, to move onto the piece of interest.

"And now for some interesting news from the world of tankery. As the tournament has shifted into its semi-final stages the governing board has announced that it will not be doing its usual two semi-final matches, but instead having a one-off tag team semi-final. Following a random draw, Oarai, the reigning champions, will be paired with Wellesley Royal Military Academy, one of the four visiting military schools, whilst former champions Kuromorimine will be teamed with Bradley Military Academy. This follows on from the opening stages of the tournament, where low seeded teams were paired up in order to increase the competition, and make room for four foreign teams in what has proven to be a major shakeup for this league. We will have more about this story at 6pm."

As soon as the story finished, Abigail flicked the TV onto mute again, and you could have heard a pin drop in the café. None of the cadets spoke for a minute, although some of them exchanged nervous looks. Casting a look in Sam's direction, Jo noticed that Pearce had zoned out completely, obviously already thinking about the implications that this news might have for the rest of the tournament. When he eventually did look back at her, Pearce only offered a half-smile that totally failed to convince the cheerful comms officers that he was not troubled. In fact, running through Sam's mind at the point were several connected thoughts, all of which troubled him greatly.

Few words were exchanged while the cadets finished their ice creams, the treats tasting somewhat less sweet in light of the fresh worries the news had given them. They paid up and left just as the hour hit three o'clock, a rising chill beginning to displace the heat of the day. As they wandered back towards the accommodation blocks, Chris was the first to break the pall of silence that surrounded the group.

"Ya know, today's been pretty great I'd say. I've had some sweet food, enjoyed the nice weather and got to spend some time with some of my favourite people in the world. All in all, not too bad in my opinion, and I hope for many more occasions like this in the future."

"I second that," Andrew piped up, "We need to do this more often."

"I would also like that," Sam added. "I want to spend more time with all of you in the future, as I should have from the start."

The group continued on their way in a loose formation, the silence that had lingered over their party now dispelled and a bit of chatter flowing here and there. Chris dropped back to walk next to Sam, and spoke to him in a low voice.

"Dude, if you're troubled at all, my door is always open. Metaphorically at least. I'm pretty sure everyone else here would say that too. We care about ya man, don't wear the weight of the world on your shoulders when there's friends about ya and all." He offered his hand to Pearce, who smacked his own palm into Chris's, a look of determination and gratitude in his eyes.

"I appreciate it, and will gladly reciprocate if you need it."

Eventually the little gaggle of cadets began to go their separate ways as they passed their different dorms, departing from each other with cheery waves. The last pair to leave were Katherine and Chris, who were heading back to Katherine's dorm for their usual dinner together. Cut down to two, Pearce and Jo headed back to their block. First stop was Jo's to pick up those books she'd offered earlier. The cheery comms officer fumbled the key out of her pocket and unlocked the door, wiping her feet on the mat on the way in before finding the light switch.

"Come on in! Sorry about the mess."

Pearce followed his friend through the door, removing his shoes on the mat and closing the door before taking in the scene before him. Jo's room was… colourful to say the least, or at least the variety of homely items decorating the furniture were. A variety of books on all topics were splayed across the table, as well as sheets of paper, some of which had begun to decorate the floor after a gust of wind picked them up. Retrieving one such sheet of paper from next to his feet, Sam looked at it closely.

"Is this… us?" he asked, a confused expression crossing his face. In response to the question, Jo reappeared from the bedroom area, where she'd been gathering the book she was going to lend, and padded over to where Pearce was standing.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "You weren't supposed to see that, it wasn't finished yet!" The brunette hastily snatched away the sheet, which displayed the five members of Monty team, rendered in a manga style, stood in front of their Tiger tank. She hurriedly stashed the piece in her bedroom before reappearing with a mock-serious expression. "Just forget you saw that."

"Saw what?" Although said with a straight face, the statement was clearly a blatant lie, and Pearce was unlikely to forget the picture in a hurry. It was quite heart-warming that Jo thought enough of her teammates that she would sketch them all together.

"Good." Jo handed over a quartet of books to Pearce. "If these books are to your taste, I've got a few others by the same author. The bookstore has others too, so if you fancy a trip down, just holler ok?"

"I will, thank you Joanna." Pearce set the books down on the table and looked his friend in the eyes. "You know when I said earlier about wanting to spend more time with you guys but work being a constant worry in the back of my mind? Well there's something else to it as well." His face betrayed the trepidation which he felt about talking about this.

"What is it? You can tell me," Jo said earnestly.

"Well I worry a lot that all of you, you, Chris, Katherine, Andrew, everyone, just allow me to hang around with you out of pity. I can't see how any of you would want to spend time with me, I'm nothing special, I'm not easy to talk to, I've no interesting hobbies going for me, I'm not charismatic. Why on earth would anyone want to waste their hours putting up with me?" Pearce's voice began to waver as he finished speaking, his eyes visibly beginning to water. It was a doubt that had plagued him constantly for quite some time by this point, but verbalising it only made the hurt worse as it gnawed away at him.

"Sam…" Jo started to speak, her voice betraying the hurt she felt on her friend's behalf, before she wrapped her friend in a comforting hug as his breath began to hitch. "I promise you, none of us are sticking around you out of pity. Everyone is their own worst critic, and most people wonder this at some point in their life, some of them frequently. And you do have plenty going for you too; you're smart, can be quite witty, and you've got a good heart, even if you don't always listen to it. I could carry on, but you know it deep down that you're pretty great, otherwise we wouldn't be friends with you." It took a little while for Pearce to get a hold of himself and break the embrace. He stared into Jo's eyes for a second before pulling her into another hug.

"Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I don't know what I'd do without you. You're so patient with me, even when I keep messing up or breaking down. I owe you more than you know."

"I'm not-" Jo made to give a humble reply, but was hushed by Pearce.

"Don't deny it. You are very special, both to me and in general. Thank you for being my friend, Joanna." There was no hint of exaggeration in Pearce's voice, nor any doubt in his mind.

The two broke apart, and nothing was said between them for a short while. Eventually Jo smiled widely.

"Did you get all of that out of your system?" she joked, playfully nudging Pearce with an elbow.

"Yes, thank you. I feel a lot better now."

"No problem, I'm always happy to help."

"I know you are, and it's one of your many virtues." Jo coloured slightly, looking a bit bashful. As she did so, Pearce collected his shoes from the mat, and began to lace them back up. "I think I shall take my leave now, if that's okay, I've taken up more than enough of your time by this point."

"It's been no trouble at all," the comms officer replied.

Pearce finished knotting his laces before collecting the books he'd left on the table. He hesitated before walking to the door, as if he had some other thoughts on his mind, but decided to save those for later discussion. Instead, he opened the door before offering Jo a smile in return.

"Thank you for the books, I will return them post-haste. And thank you for everything else too. I'll see you tomorrow, Joanna."

"You're welcome, Sam, and I will see you then."

**1800hrs**

Pearce had returned to his dorm swiftly, his feet gliding as if an enormous weight had been lifted off his shoulders. After placing the books Jo had lent him on his desk, he had collapsed onto his bed like a puppet with the strings cut, thoroughly exhausted despite the limited excitement the day had held, before dozing off into a light snooze. He woke groggily two hours later to the sound of his phone vibrating on the side table. Pearce glanced to his left, where a message light blinked on the device, before rolling over and picking it up. It was an old phone, its black case battered, with a slide-out keyboard that Pearce preferred due to its convenience. Unlocking it, Pearce rolled back over to check his messages. There was one from Chris which had arrived a few hours ago, probably just as they'd left, filled with smileys and a joke that faintly amused Pearce.

However, there were a few other messages that caught the cadet's attention. Firstly, there were several messages from an unknown number, although checking the first one revealed it was Angela, who had apparently been supplied with (or more likely, demanded) his number from Chris. She wanted to know if he'd seen the news, and what their course of action was. There were then a trio of messages over several intervals of time in which she got increasingly frustrated at the lack of reply. Hoping he wouldn't get chewed out for his late response later, Pearce tapped out a reply.

"Sorry I missed your message, I wasn't in at the time. I see the news report though. Want to meet tomorrow to discuss?"

After he tapped send, Pearce rolled out of bed into a sitting position, contemplating what these developments would mean for himself, and his team. Although they were paired with the champions of the last tournament, Oarai were still, in material terms at least, to be considered underdogs, while the two teams they faced possessed a material superiority that was only amplified when combined. As a result it would be an uphill struggle. Added to this was the quantity of working with allies. Could the cadets work with the Oarai girls? How well would Bradley and Kuromorimine function together? There were too many variables to nail down right this moment. On top of that, there was also the personal aspect of this teaming up. Could he work with Oarai, with Miho, or Yukari, or Erwin? It troubled him greatly.

Pearce was only stirred out of these thoughts by the sound of a reply arriving, a simple 'fine, where?', accompanied by a snarky 'answer your phone next time'. He smirked to himself. It was entertaining to get under Angie's skin at times. He tapped out another message swiftly.

"Ice cream parlour, port side of the carrier, called Cone with the Wind. Meet at 3?"

A reply returned a minute later with a simple 'ok', causing Pearce to smile briefly. He then checked the last unopened message, one he was far more hesitant to open.

It was from his mother.

Scanning the message briefly, Pearce pressed dial for the first conversation that he had had with his mother in months.

**Chapter end**

**Omake – The Price of Impetuosity**

"You thinking you want to go in there? Maybe knock some sense into a few idiots?" the laidback cadet drawled. Pearce pondered the idea for a moment before grinning ferally in a most uncharacteristic manner.

"Damn right I do! Let's go in there and knock a few heads together," he said, rolling up his sleeves before ploughing into the pub with nary a backwards glance to check if his friends had followed him.

"Wow. I did not expect that," Stephen said.

The others just stared at each other for a few seconds, before releasing their own battlecries and charging into the fray. An hour later they would all be found, detained with the rest of the pubgoers by the military police, all of them sporting various scuffs and scrapes, but also massive grins. Even as their punishment was detailed to them by the provosts, Pearce leaned over to Chris and whispered, "Totally worth it."

**Omake End**

**There we go! Another chapter completed. It's taken me a while, but I'm still trying to keep to one a month. This one was born of my desire to get more characterisation and interaction in rather than focusing on the tanks and the combat. You'll see more of these as the next match is some time away for the cast, and I want all of the OCs that I've planted in to not only grow as characters, but establish bonds with each other and have their own fleshed-out motivations and such. **

**Chapters will likely not be forthcoming for the months of April and May most likely, as my finals will be going on. Even now I'm halfway through my 'Easter Break' which is basically time for me to revise my dissertation into its final form. Once I get back I then have a long-term open exam, a closed exam and then another open exam that will take me to basically the end of May. Once those are done I'll be free to write once more, and have three months over summer to do so, in which I hope to basically get this story into its closing phases (although don't count on too much, Hearts of Iron 4 is coming out on D-Day :P, and I plan to have quite a few hours logged in it). If I have time over the exam season though I will be writing to try and get some ideas down, but it will be at a far slower pace than usual (not that I'm normally good at keeping deadlines).**

**As always I would love to hear your feedback, any ideas you have or any questions you have, feel free to PM me, drop a review, all that sort of stuff.**

**Until next time,**

**HereticalShinigami**


	27. Chapter 27: Entente Cordiale

**Hey guys, HereticalShinigami here. I'm writing this author's note as of 11/4/2016 as I start work on this chapter, which you likely won't see for some time. As for why I'm writing now? Well I just handed my dissertation in, and I sure as hell am not doing any other work today, so I figured I might start work on this chapter. For those of you confused as to why this chapter doesn't follow perfectly chronologically on from the last one, I was given the idea to do this first little section by Theralion, who pointed out that Japanese schools actually still open on Saturdays (and I'm glad that's not a thing in Britain).**

**I'd like to thank the 50-something people who follow this story, and all the people who've reviewed it and favourited it thus far, even though I initially wasn't particularly interested in metrics it's nice to see that some people like reading my work, and I hope you continue to enjoy it. I'll try and keep it up to standard, maybe even improve a little bit (especially the opening chapters, which I plan to revise), and I'm not quitting till it's done, so brace yourself for another hundred thousand words or so.**

**Anyway, I'd better stop waffling and actually write some story.**

**Saturday, February 15****th**** – Oarai Girls High School – 1000hrs**

"Standard class 1, 2-A, Miho Nishizumi, report to the Student Council room. Repeat, standard class 1, 2-A, Miho Nishizumi, report to the Student Council Room."

The sound of the school PA echoed through the halls of Oarai quite loudly, disrupting the flow of teaching in a manner that caused many teachers to purse their lips in displeasure, even though it was hardly an infrequent occurrence. For the subject of the announcement however, the statement brought back the memory of the first time she had been called to the student council room, and how terrified she'd been. Shuddering for a second, Miho then recalled the fun that she'd had since that day, and the friends she'd made, causing her to relax again. Oarai's commander looked over to the teacher for permission to go, receiving a nod in return.

"Don't be too long though, or you'll miss some things that'll be on the test!"

Vacating her seat with a cheerful acknowledgement to Saori and Hana, the former of whom had looked around to see if she needed to be accompanied, Miho made the short walk to the student council office, as usual a hub of bustling activity, none of which was Anzu's. The petite redhead was instead doing her usual job of lounging around in her office chair, although her usual bag of dried sweet potatoes was missing.

"But Yuzu, I just want one!"

"We know that one will become two, and two will become the bag," Yuzu chided, "So your sweets are confiscated for now. Consider this punishment for making me do all the society budget approvals this term."

"Meanie."

Miho chuckled, which caused the others to look in her direction, distracted from their sweet-related antics for the time being. It was Momo who addressed her first.

"Ah, Nishizumi, it's good to see you. We've just received some interesting news from the league that we thought you should see immediately."

That piqued Miho's interest. Normally any news that needed to be disseminated could at least wait until lunchtime or the end of the day. To call her in not long after school had started was a little unusual, and suggested something big was going on to do with the tankery tournament.

"Why, what is it?"

"As of this morning, the league has sent out a missive detailing plans for the next round. Rather than being two separate rounds of 1v1 matches, it will be a single round of 2v2, staged in two weeks' time, with the winners facing each other in the final," Anzu said, turning her monitor round to show off the email that she'd received.

"Hmm," Miho replied, adopting a thinking pose, "Have they released which team we will be paired up with?"

"Yes," Momo said, "We will be allying with Wellesley Royal Military Academy against Kuromorimine and Bradley Military Academy. As you are our commander, we wanted to know what course of action you thought we should take in approaching this situation."

Miho mulled over what she had just been told for a second. There were several salient points to entertain; one, that they would inevitably need to contact their allied school in order to coordinate group training, two, the relative balance of the two teams, which Miho knew was slanted in favour of Kuromorimine and Bradley, and three, the logistics and dynamics between the two teams that would colour their working relationship. Still, the first step would be simple.

"The first thing I would recommend would be to contact Wellesley in order to set up meetings and schedule training, which will be far easier with a line of communication open. We need to prepare to rendezvous with our teammates, and work out the practicalities of our next round."

The three council members nodded at her suggestion, with Yuzu heading over to her work desk immediately.

"I'll begin looking up contact information and as soon as I've found it I'll try and get an email or phone line to whoever runs the tankery program for Wellesley," the VP said.

"Good," Miho replied, "Now we can't get any real work done until we have that dialogue open, but before then we can at least have a think about strategies and relative team strength. I'll bring Yukari with me for our next meeting, since she'll probably be able to draw you up a list of Wellesley's tanks based on what she's seen in previous matches if we can't contact them in time."

"Should we call a general meeting of captains on this?" Anzu queried.

"I don't think it's so pressing that we'll need to begin planning immediately," Miho said. "Perhaps we should have a general meeting after school, as Yuzu might have managed to get through to Wellesley by that point, and we'll have more to work with."

Without too many resources to work with, the announcement that Anzu had received remained only interesting news at the moment, as Oarai needed a line through to their erstwhile partners, because without them they would struggle to begin strategising for the next match, rendering any preparations they made mere conjecture.

"That sounds fine to me," Anzu shrugged, leaning back in her chair, "We'll call you back if there are any pressing updates that arrive." Miho nodded in response.

"I'll see you later then, President Kadotani."

As Miho left the office to return to class, Momo leaned in to speak to Anzu.

"With the teams set up as they are now, I'd say we've got even more of an uphill struggle than last year to win this match. Kuromorimine are going to be more on the ball this time, and maybe even more heavily armed, and from what I've heard of Bradley they've got no shortage of tanks either."

Anzu waved off her concerns, a nonchalant expression on her face.

"Nishizumi's not let us down so far has she? Every barrier that's been set in front of her she's overcome, and the team has faith in her. She may just surprise us yet."

**1300hrs**

"So Miporin, what did the student council want to see you about?"

Miho glanced up from her lunch to lock eyes with Saori. The pair were sat with the rest of Anglerfish team, eating their lunch on the back hull of their Panzer IV, a practice that had become habitual the previous term.

"Hmm? Oh, well they wanted to tell me that we got the details on our next match sent through to us by the league authorities."

"We're facing that Bradley Academy, right?" Saori asked. "They were on our side of the draw, so they're who we should be up against in the next round."

"Not quite," Miho replied, taking a bite of her rice ball, "We are against Bradley, but the league has redrawn the rules for this round. Rather than fighting just Bradley, we are going to team up with Wellesley Academy against both Bradley and Kuromorimine."

"Eh!?" Yukari exclaimed. "But I thought we were done with the tag team stuff in the first round? I don't think the league has even done something like this before."

"It does seem most peculiar," Hana added serenely. "Perhaps it was a late addition to the tournament structure, otherwise I doubt it would have been announced so late."

Her teammates nodded at Hana's words. For them it meant not only another confrontation with Kuromorimine, which had provided the climactic end to Oarai's desperate attempt to save their school, but also brought new facets of tankery into the mix. Not only had the scale of battle escalated, but they now had allies to rely on and cooperate with, and a combined enemy that they could potentially divide and conquer. Miho pondered the latter aspect while her friends speculated on the origin of this new initiative from the tankery league. Although she was concerned about how Oarai and Wellesley would mesh as a team, it was equally possible for those to be transferred to the cooperation of Bradley and Kuromorimine. How would her sister get along with Bradley's commander? Their working relationship would be just as vital to the coming battle as Miho and Pearce's.

"Miss Nishizumi, do you have any ideas for how we're going to deal with this situation?" Yukari asked. "It seems like this will be a very different match to the ones we've had thus far."

"I suppose it will be a little different," Miho said, "But we did fight a tag team in Bonple and Waffle at the start of the term though. It's our operation with a team that will be the new challenge."

"Do you think we will have any problems with that?" Hana said, causing Miho to pause for a second in thought.

"I think it's entirely possible for us to work together with the cadets from Wellesley. Equally I might be wrong, but we have to at least try, right?" The other girls nodded in agreement.

Frankly, Miho had no idea whether the Wellesley cadets would be accepting of the concept of working with Oarai or not, she hadn't spent enough time in their company to fully gauge what their team was like, nor even fully assess the character of the few she had met. Given the near u-turn in the personality of their captain, going from cold and disparaging on their first meeting to polite and earnest the last, the Nishizumi scion really wasn't sure what to expect. Perhaps it would be prudent to talk to Erwin and Yukari more, in private, about their thoughts on the compatibility of the two teams, given their greater experience dealing with the British commander. Still, she had a reasonable hope that if nothing else, they could establish a cordial, professional partnership.

"So what's our next move?" Mako asked, stopping her placid chewing of a sandwich to speak for the first time in the conversation.

"We're meeting this evening, all the captains, to hopefully discuss what strategies we can think of, new training ideas, things like that so we can start maximising the two weeks we have before the next match. Yuzu is trying to get us in contact with the cadets so we can arrange some form of joint planning too. Yukari, do you happen to know what the composition of the Wellesley team is, from what you've seen?"

Yukari's brow furrowed for a moment. "Err, from what I've seen so far, and assuming they don't have any other tanks in reserve, I think I have a good idea of their composition."

"Great!" Miho replied, "Would you mind coming with me to the session after school then?"

"No! Not at all! I'm always happy to help, Miss Nishizumi." Yukari beamed, ever eager to offer her talents in whatever way she could. "I take it you want to use that as a basis of some preliminary planning, right?"

"Yeah, if we can at least get an idea of our operational strength, we know what assets we have in our favour."

"Speaking of which," Saori interjected, "Do we know what the academy we're fighting has? I mean with Kuromorimine we can at least make an educated guess, since you know what they had before you left and they're unlikely to have bought any since, but I don't think we've even watched Bradley fight thus far."

"That is true," Hana said, adopting a thinking pose, one finger daintily resting on her lips, "In fact I would say we have a dearth of information on them. All I can really remember is that they're American, and that their commander was quite vociferous."

"Hopefully the Wellesley team might have some more information for us then," Mako replied.

"It would be helpful if they do," Miho acknowledged. After a minute of quiet, unbroken except for the quiet sound of eating, Saori clapped her hands together.

"Anyway, Miporin, Yukarin, when you've finished your meeting, would you like to come round to my place? I was planning to make food for all of us, so I could show off the new recipes I've been trying out. We can cook and then it'll be ready for when you get there," Saori said enthusiastically, obviously proud of the progress she was making as a chef. Yukari and Miho smiled and nodded, oblivious to the muttered 'she tested those recipes on me,' from Mako.

"That sounds great!" Yukari exclaimed. "I bet you've made some fantastic progress with cooking, Miss Takebe!"

"Yeah! At this rate, I'll be able to wow any guy with my awesome cuisine!" Saori asserted spiritedly. "Just you watch!"

"Assuming you don't poison them accidentally," Mako deadpanned.

"Hey! I only messed up that one time!" Saori shot back, before huffing and turning her back to the rest of the girls, causing the girls to giggle at her melodrama.

"I'm sure it'll be great," Miho reassured Saori, who turned around and beamed at her.

Much of the rest of the break was spent in polite conversation over what remained of their lunch, before the bell called the girls back to their classes. Miho only half paid attention to much of her work for the rest of the day, her active strategic mind deciding to distract her from work in favour of dreaming up potential plans and contingencies for their next match.

**1630hrs**

Once the school bell rang, its shrill tones echoing through the halls to inform student and teacher alike of their imminent release from class, Miho and Yukari bade their friends farewell, silently hoping the dinner that awaited them after the meeting was edible, before heading to their rendezvous with the other captains of the tankery team. They entered the student council office to find their comrades already sat there waiting, chatting amongst themselves. As Miho moved to take her seat, Momo offered her a curt nod.

"Commander. We've held off on briefing everyone until you got here."

"Understood, thank you," Miho replied. Clearing her throat, she addressed the other captains. "Hi everyone. I'm sure you've probably worked out why we called a meeting this evening." She received a few nods in return. "Normally we wouldn't be so quick at calling everyone together to talk about our next match, but the league has sent us some interesting news. For the next match, which will be held in two weeks, we will be working with Wellesley Academy against Kuromorimine and Bradley Academy in a tag team match. We thought we should make you aware of this, as our planning and strategy will be substantially affected."

"How will the flag tank be chosen then?" Azusa asked, "It seems like there could be potential conflict there."

Miho was somewhat impressed that her pseudo-protégé had immediately begun thinking about the tactical implications of a paired match. It boded well for Oarai in future to have someone so goal-focused as a potential choice to be the tankery team leader.

"The email said that we'll get further details through post-haste, but I would assume that there will be one flag tank per tag team, and its allocation will have to be decided between us."

Caesar spoke next. "If we are to fight alongside our erstwhile allies, would it be best to send them a communique for better coordination?"

"A good suggestion, Caesar," Miho replied, "We actually came to the same conclusion this morning, so Yuzu has been trying to get us in contact with the academy so we can arrange some sort of meeting." Miho looked over to where Yuzu was sat at her desk, typing away at a furious pace on some bit of work or other. "Excuse me, Yuzu, but did you manage to get any response from the academy?"

The bubbly brunette twisted round on her chair with a smile on her face. "Yes, I managed to get through to the staff office, who then forwarded me to the headmaster's adjutant. He informed me that he would pass on our details and request to a Captain Hart, who is the tankery instructor for their team. I got a call back from Captain Hart less than an hour later, and he then politely informed me that while none of the cadets were in class today, he would ask for the commander and vice-commander to come in tomorrow so we could speak with them. I arranged the meeting for 11, if that's no issue."

"Not at all, that's great, thanks Yuzu!" Miho said. "With that in mind, I think we can postpone any serious planning until tomorrow, when we'll hopefully have some more to work with. I just thought everyone should know what we'll be preparing for for the next fortnight. So unless anyone has anything they think we need to discuss, should we reconvene on Monday?"

A general round of agreement rippled from the assembly of girls, who bid their fellows goodbye as they filtered out of the student council office. As Caesar rose to leave, her brow furrowed as she pondered how her housemate would react to the news. The reki-jo dismissed any potential worries, as Erwin was more than welcome to take the news any way she wanted as long as Caesar didn't wake to a field of landmines outside the front door the next day. That had been a particularly tumultuous weekend when that happened last.

Yukari and Miho were the last to leave, Anzu, Momo and Yuzu obviously remaining behind to continue working. Well, Momo and Yuzu at any rate. As they stepped out into the cooling evening air, Yukari turned to Miho.

"So how do you think Miss Takebe is getting on with tea?"

**Meanwhile….**

*Smack* The sound echoed through the kitchen as a well-aimed ladle descended on Hana's hand, which had been wandering ever closer to the simmering pot Saori was tending to.

"This is your last warning Hana! Try and get tea before Yukarin and Miporin get here and you're not getting any at all!" Saori punctuated this with a dangerously brandished ladle, causing Hana to put her hands up in a placating gesture.

"Mou, but it looks so tasty," Hana said, an adorable approximation of a pout on her face, which might have swayed Saori a little bit had her stomach not rumbled at the same time. "Please Saori, I'm really hungryyyy."

Mako, curled up in a comfy chair outside of the kitchen area, merely rolled her eyes at the pair's antics. Although she was indifferent to the actual cooking going on in the kitchen, she wouldn't deny that it did smell delectable. Mako just wished that Yukari and Miho would hurry up and get here so she could try it.

**1800hrs – Wellesley Royal Military Academy**

Despite the phone's shrill rings reminding him that it had been less than a minute since he had punched dial on the handset, the whole process still felt like a lifetime to Pearce. And for good reason. Despite the various trials he'd faced while a cadet, which included the potential terror of overly accurate shellfire in tankery matches, ringing his mother, who he had not parted from on good terms, seemed far the more terrifying undertaking. But it had to be done. Pearce did not wish to spend the rest of his life at odds with his parents if he could avoid it, so chances like this had to be seized. The diminutive cadet was broken out of his musings by the interruption of the dialling noise by a familiar voice.

"Hello? Sam?"

It was a very pleasant voice, one with a hint of the soft lilt of the Welsh accent to it, betraying his mother's roots in a village not far from the border, but also one shot through with more than a little bit of stress. Evidently the Pearce matriarch had been just as worried about this conversation's potential implications as her son had.

"Hello mother, it is nice to hear you again," Pearce said politely. "It has been a while since I've last been able to talk to you." At the other end of the phone line, Emma had been somewhat caught off guard by the well-mannered reception she was receiving from her son. Hearing her child's voice for the first time in months had set the tumultuous mix of emotions she'd had about this entire affair back off, disrupting her train of thought. Almost on autopilot, she replied with similar niceties.

"Likewise, it has been too long since last we had a proper conversation. Are you doing well?" Emma asked, mentally kicking herself for the question, since she knew what was likely to come next.

"I am well mother. My academic results are by a reasonable margin the highest in my entire school year, I have been able to spend far more time with my friends recently, and we have successfully reached the semi-final stages of the Japanese High School Tankery Tournament. I trust you received my letter which explained everything to that effect?"

Emma cringed. They had received his letter scant days prior which detailed virtually everything Sam had just said, but the accusatory tone that slightly tinged Pearce's speech reminded her that he'd informed his parents of more than just how his academic life was progressing.

"We received your letter a few days ago and were very proud of your progress, even if we wish you had chosen to go to a better establishment. It is obvious you invest a lot of time into your studies."

"Well of course I invest a lot of time into my studies, mother. It is fairly hard to avoid doing so when one is faced with the threat of expulsion should my academic achievements slacken," Sam replied venomously. Although he had promised himself to at least maintain a civil conversation with his mother, it was quite difficult to avoid aggravation entering his voice when his mother made offhanded barbs at his life choices. He padded to kitchen and set the kettle going before forcing himself to calm down and respond civilly. "Regardless, I am pleased to hear that you are happy with my progress. But as much as I welcome you checking up on me mother, I have to suspect you wished to talk to me about something else."

Emma sighed. She'd put one foot wrong in a relationship where the tension could almost be cut by a knife, and she could sense that she was losing her son's goodwill in this conversation. She thought it would therefore be prudent to get to the crux of the conversation before there was a total breakdown in communication.

"There were actually a few things I needed to speak with you about," Emma said, pausing for a second before continuing in a halting and slightly remorseful tone, "The first… About your friend Riko… I'm sorry."

There was a long pause as Pearce took in the statement. He was utterly flabbergasted by his mother's apology, as it came from an almost entirely unexpected quarter. Both his parents were quite proud people, and getting an apology from them was often like trying to get blood from a stone, even if they acknowledged that they had made a mistake. Given that saying sorry was something he'd had to get used to recently, Sam supposed it was an inherited trait.

"I see," he replied evenly, "And what brought this on?"

"Your letter," Emma said. "At the time we thought we were making a good decision for you, since she helped fuel your interest in the military, and we thought by cutting that influence off you would lose that obsession and come home, but we were obviously very wrong. You obviously cared about this girl a lot, and I'm sorry that we tried to separate you."

The red mist threatened to descend as Pearce listened to his mother lay out her reasoning for arbitrarily cutting him off from Erwin. His next response almost took on the form of a growl.

"She was one of the few friends I had before I moved away, and definitely the only one who understood me completely. In your haste to prevent her from 'influencing me', you arbitrarily broke that bond that I had, and even worse, led me to believe that she was to blame. I lashed out at her when we met again because of it. You, mother, so shattered my faith in my friends that I have had almost no one to confide in closely until now, when I am finally trying to build bridges and make new friends. While I accept your apology, I hope you will forgive me for saying it is long, long, overdue."

"I know."

"What?"

"Your father proposed the idea to me when we decided that you were better off not talking to your friend. I maintained that we should take a firm hand, and explain our reasons to you, but he thought it would be simpler not to tell you and make it seem as if you just lost contact. We argued, but eventually I agreed to go along with it because it would cause less conflict. It was the cowardly option I know, and I regret it. I should have taken a more firm stand about it, but the path of least resistance seemed like it wouldn't cause you to hate us."

Emma sounded crestfallen as she explained, expecting Sam to just hang up and be done with her. It was to her surprise that he did not, and sounded somewhat empathetic.

"Mother, I could never hate you, or Father. You are my parents, and I love you dearly. I may resent the actions that you take, and your constant interference with the path that I have chosen, but I don't hate you, and I never will. You are doing only what you think is right, even if I totally disagree with you on what actually is right for me."

There was both a feeling of relief and sadness that washed over Emma at that time. Relief that their family was not so broken as to be irreparable, but also sadness that they were still divided. Putting those thoughts aside, she spoke once more.

"That is actually something I wished to talk to you about. Before you went away, we never sat down and talked about why we felt the way we did about you choosing to go to Wellesley, nor did we ask you why you wanted to go. So if you can, please tell your mother why you were so set on attending this school." She said it as neutrally as possible to try and assuage any suspicions of an ulterior motive on her part.

At the other end of the line, Pearce paused, a teaspoon mid-stir in his mug. It was actually a question that he wasn't entirely sure how to answer, having not had his motives to do things questioned in so long. All that had mattered for the last year and a half was staying at the school, not pondering why he'd gone there in the first place. He took a sip of his tea, sifting through his thoughts to remember what had drawn him to the academy.

"I wanted to attend Wellesley because I felt it would offer me several different opportunities that I may otherwise not find in civilian education," Pearce began slowly. "One was the opportunity to meet like-minded people, who shared interests and work ethic with me in the hope that I might be able to get closer to them. Secondly, despite your protestations to the contrary, Wellesley is one of the top colleges in the country with regard to academic achievement, only suffering in the league tables because of its comparatively average breadth in the curriculum. Finally, and where I suspect the issue may lie, is that Wellesley also provides an education system with a mind to preparing individuals for a potential military career, something which I will admit I find an attractive prospect."

"What about the family tradition?" Emma asked, curious that her son hadn't mentioned the long heritage of Pearces serving in the army.

"Though it does give me some pride to know I uphold the family tradition if I do continue on into service, it has never been a prime factor in my decision." Sam replied. "I know that tradition is also the reason you and father are so opposed to my joining the army. That war has claimed enough of our family with its terrible wastage of human life."

"I see you have at least memorised what your father says about it, and while I will not say his point is unjustified, it's not quite the same as what I think. I agree with him that war is abhorrent, and that enough men have died to its merciless, grinding attrition," Emma said. "But, it's not why I don't want you in the army. It's not because another Pearce name might end up on the list of those Killed in Action, but because it's you, Samuel, that might end up on that list. You are my child, my precious son, and there is nothing I want to see less than you being hurt, because I love you."

A small mist of water began to cloud Pearce's vision as he sat sipping his tea. Only a strong force of will prevented tears from falling freely down his face as he listened to his mother talk. It was one thing to know that his parents cared about him, always seeing to it that he had a roof over his head and food on his plate, but quite another to hear his mother reiterate that she loved him. For a child that had been at odds with his parents for years, it was the validation that he'd needed, even craved, despite that fact that it was also an integral part of Pearce's feud with his mother and father.

"That's why I didn't want you to go," Emma continued, "I thought that if I backed up your father, we might eventually dissuade you from this path, and encourage you into something where you are less at risk. But your letter made me realise that for all our effort in trying to spare you the physical pain of fighting and maybe dying, we actually were causing you pain. We split you up from your friends because we thought we knew what was best, and that was our mistake."

"It's okay mother, I forgive you," Pearce said, ignoring the rogue tear that was rolling down his face. "Having heard your reasons, I can see that you were doing only what you thought would protect me. But can you not understand why I wish to stay at my school?"

"I can," the Pearce matriarch answered. "All of them are valid reasons, even if the last is what worries me so. But clearly I misjudged quite what your motives were when you decided to go to this school."

"So," Sam began, with some trepidation, "Would you still be opposed to me finishing my education at this institution then?" There was some considerable pause as his mother pondered the question.

"No, while I have my reservations I would not be opposed to you continuing at your school now I understand your point of view." Pearce' heart leapt for joy, hoping that perhaps this entire issue might have been put behind him with just a phone call and some willing communication. It was to drop like a rock a moment later. "Your father will though, and I strongly doubt that will change, regardless of the pressure you or I exert upon him."

"I see," Sam said bitterly.

"I will talk to him," Emma promised. "But I cannot promise you that his mind will ever be changed. After your uncle passed, he became very staunch in his belief that no Pearce should ever have to die for their country again, and I doubt that situation is going to be easy to change."

"I understand. Then if he will not back down, I will simply have to leave him no openings to exploit. There is too much at stake for me to lose."

Emma smiled at the steel in her son's voice. It was evident he had found some conviction while he had been away, where before he'd been quite timid.

"Then ensure you do not. You have not failed thus far, have you? I'm sure my son will make me proud."

"I'll try, mother."

"Good. Now I must go, I'm working from home today and I was supposed to be dealing with my email backlog."

"That's fine. Would it… be possible for us to speak again soon?"

"Of course, I can ring you the same time on Wednesday if that's ok?"

"That's fine mother, I should be free hopefully."

"Okay then, speak to you on Wednesday. "

As the pair exchanged pleasantries and hung up, both of them collapsed into their seat like a puppet with the strings cut, all energy thoroughly spent. Despite this, they felt a certain satisfaction with how their conversation had gone, as it had been a major breakthrough in reconciling parent and child that was long overdue. Perhaps their family could be made whole again in the future, and this would be but the first step. As it was, both mother and son went away feeling like a weight had been lifted off their shoulders.

Pearce took another sip of his tea, draining the cup.

"Well, that went better than I'd expected."

**1930hrs**

Placing his plate on the side next to the sink, where a cooling pot of curry was standing ready to be frozen later, Pearce walked back into his bedroom, and switched on his computer. He idly toyed with the idea of dessert while he waited for the computer to boot up, before opening his browser and logging onto his emails. Sifting through various miscellaneous messages, he eventually spotted one from Captain Hart, asking both Pearce and Clark to present themselves at his office at eleven the next day for a conference with the Oarai team leaders. Unsure if Angie had seen it, Pearce fired off a few return emails before flipping his phone back open and dialling her number, getting through after a couple of rings.

"Hello? Pearce?"

"Good evening, Angela," Pearce said. "I just thought I should make you aware that Captain Hart has asked the two of us to go and see him tomorrow. Apparently we have a conference with the Oarai team leaders at eleven."

"Alright, that's fine," Angela said. "Thanks for telling me."

"However, can you meet me at the entrance to the staff building at 10? I've got some ideas that I was hoping to run past you beforehand, and there's some other business I need to take care of."

"Got it, I'll be there. Anything you need me to bring?"

"Your best behaviour would be nice."

"Screw you, Pearce," Clark shot back, though it was without any real venom.

"Perhaps you could contemplate some combination training that we could do together, and how we could better integrate our forces if we are to combine them."

"Will do. Anything else?"

"Just one more thing. Since we'll have dealt with the business we needed to take care of in the conference, I take it we're cancelling our plans for tomorrow afternoon then?" Pearce said, although part of him was somewhat put out by this prospect.

"Why? Would you be embarrassed to be seen with me socially?" Clark responded, a tone of irritation in her voice. How dare he have the nerve to try and cancel on her?

"Not at all, I just assumed that with our business concluded earlier in the day, you would see no purpose in spending any further time in one another's company." Frankly the only other thing Pearce had planned was to ask Chloe for a spar in the evening, but that could hardly be called socialising, since the fierce gunner had made it quite clear that it was a purely professional thing, nothing more, so he'd been quite looking forward to spending time with his 2IC.

"Don't try to put this on me," Clark growled. "If you don't want to go, just say so."

"I'm quite content with it. Are you?"

Angela barely needed to think on the question. She, like her counterpart, was actually quite happy with the arrangement that they'd planned. However, unlike Pearce, Clark's pride prevented her from actually vocalising as much, lest it be taken the wrong way and diminish the image she presented.

"Yeah, I'm fine with it," she said, doing her best to sound apathetic.

"Splendid. We'll go straight there from our meeting, if that's no trouble."

"Sure," Clark replied, before adopting a more gentle tone. "Goodnight, Pearce. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight Angela," Pearce said.

As Pearce put the phone down and flicked back open the copy of _Sharpe's Tiger _that Jo had lent him, he wondered why he had felt butterflies in his stomach when his 2IC had insisted they maintain their plans for tomorrow. Writing it off as anxiety, he turned back to the exploits of a British rifleman in the Napoleonic Wars.

**Sunday, February 16****th**** – 1045hrs**

A harsh rapping on the office door snapped Captain Hart out of his reverie, his brain having long since gone on autopilot as he signed off on the myriad request forms that running a tankery team required. Setting his pen down and beginning to straighten himself up to look presentable, he called out "Enter!"

The oaken door soon swung open to reveal the two students he'd been waiting for, both in immaculate uniform, although neither looked particularly enthused to be there. They snapped off crisp salutes before standing at ease in front of Hart's desk. The captain steepled his fingers on the desk.

"Ah, good morning Mr Pearce, Miss Clark, I hope you are well. You are early, but please do have a seat," Hart said, gesturing to a pair of armchairs in one corner of the office, set up to face a television, upon which was mounted a camera. "If you would like refreshments, the staff room is three doors down on the left. I trust you've got some ideas as to how you are going to coordinate with the Oarai team?"

"Yes sir," Pearce replied, "In fact our earliness was because we had a prior meeting to discuss some of those ideas that took far less time that we had expected."

"Care to enlighten me on some of them?"

"Well actually sir, you should be getting an email through detailing most of them in a minute or so. It should be titled 'RE: Proposals for Joint Operations Training with Oarai Girls Academy'."

Hart flicked his computer back on while his students availed themselves of seats. He scrolled through his emails, lazily scanning each of them for what Pearce had mentioned. His eyes bugged out when he found the correct one, one that he'd nearly skipped because it wasn't sent from Pearce's email account.

"Samuel, why is this email direct from the Headmaster's office?" There was a slight hint of irritation in Hart's voice, as the tendency of his students to either not consult him or go over his head was beginning to grate.

"Well sir, since some of my training proposals required a clearance grade which only the headmaster could grant, and given the short notice, I thought I had best present them to the headmaster personally, which was the earlier meeting that I previously mentioned, and then bring them to you. They are, of course, still subject your approval, sir," Pearce finished smoothly.

"Ah, right, of course," Hart replied. "Although I would appreciate it if you brought such ideas to me first, as your supervisor, rather than taking them directly to the headmaster. Especially with one as important as this."

"Of course sir. I only did this the way round I did because I knew I was seeing you at this time today, and as such when the headmaster asked me to present myself at first possible convenience to explain my plan personally I thought it would be superfluous to come and see you even earlier sir."

Somewhat mollified, Hart did not question Pearce much further. Instead he tapped out a reply on his keyboard before donning his uniform coat and heading for the door. "I'll be back shortly. Do please keep me appraised on anything else that is decided on in this meeting."

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving the two cadets alone in the office. It didn't take long for Clark to fix Pearce with an amused smirk. He merely raised an eyebrow in response, lips quirking into a small smile of his own.

"You planned that, didn't you?"

"Surprisingly no, it was merely an added bonus. I merely wanted to cut out the middleman with regard to strategic planning. If I took everything through Captain Hart and then up the chain of command, it would be time for the next match before everything got organised, regardless of how enthusiastically he pursued it for us. By seeking the highest authority possible, I ensured that our planning can be efficacious and swift, as anything we determine here, within reason, has carte blanche approval."

"Still, I'm somewhat impressed. It was surprisingly devious of you, taking the initiative like that," Clark said, slightly emphasising the last phrase. Pearce merely titled his head and smiled serenely at her.

"I try. Now, would you care for some tea?"

On Angela's nod, Pearce vacated his chair and left the office in search of the staff room, leaving his 2IC reclined in her comfy chair, a thoughtful expression on her face. If asked, she would claim that it was because she was pondering training ideas to raise in the forthcoming meeting, but really she was more focused on her relationship with her teammate. An independent and driven person, Angela had never really shown an interest in any of her peers, and as such was in a bit of a quandary, as she now found herself asking what Pearce meant to her, and she to him. Clark knew that Pearce valued his bond with her - he'd said as much to her, and she'd never known him to lie, but what he meant by the bond was not so clear; was it platonic, or maybe something more? In the other case, Clark knew that she found Pearce had a number of admirable qualities in her eyes: he was smart, polite, loyal, and possessed of a quiet determination that matched her own. Nor did he look down on her aspirations, and in fact challenged her to better herself even as he respected her talents. But was the warm feeling she got as she contemplated this one of friendship, or did it run deeper? She had no idea that Pearce was having a similar problem sorting out his own feelings.

Clark shook herself out of her introspective fugue as the door creaked back open, and Pearce returned with a tray of refreshments and snacks, along with a steaming pot of tea and a pair of cups and saucers.

"I decided to make a pot of tea instead, since we won't run out as quickly and I'm still not familiar with how you take your tea," Pearce said, setting the tray down on the coffee table and beginning to pour.

"Just with milk, thank you," Clark replied, taking the proffered cup and saucer once her counterpart had finished pouring, before fishing a digestive off the plate of snacks to go with it.

Pearce poured his own tea (milk, one sugar), before sitting back in his own seat. As the pair sat in comfortable silence, his gaze wandered back to Angela, and those butterflies in his stomach returned to bother him once more. Unlike Clark, who was trying to work out the depth of her own feelings, Sam knew that Angela was special to him, in a unique way. Perhaps the social distance which he'd kept for a while made it easier to recognise, as it was certainly nothing he'd felt before with any of his other female friends. But at the same time Pearce would never act on those feelings. A potent mix of self-doubt and nervousness prevented him from saying anything. After all, he could not envision Angela ever returning those feelings, why would she? She had everything; looks, smarts, charm (when she wanted to), and only her clear disinterest kept a lot of cadets from developing an interest in her. Why would she ever like him? It was a preposterous concept.

Sam tried to ignore his gnawing doubts and instead pushed those thoughts to one side. That was one bridge he would burn when he got to it. Instead, he brought his cup to his lips and took a long draft of his tea, savouring the slight sweetness of the beverage and its gentle, calming effect. It soothed his nerves for a time, but eventually his eyes wandered back to Angela, who was now gazing at him. Dark brown met piercing green for a lingering moment, before the pair looking away suddenly in embarrassment.

Fortunately for the two cadets, the television in front of them lit up suddenly, informing them that Oarai were finally calling them for their conference. Composing themselves hastily, Pearce accepted the call through. Eventually the picture faded in to show four girls in the uniform of Oarai; Anzu, Miho, Momo and Yuzu, sat in much the same configuration as the cadets were, facing a display with a camera.

"Good morning," Pearce greeted. "We were informed by our instructor, Captain Hart, that you wished to confer with us regarding our upcoming partnership in the tankery tournament's next round."

"Yeah, we spoke to him yesterday about it," Anzu said, "We wanted to get our heads together as soon as possible and start coordinating."

"Indeed. I don't believe we've met though," Pearce said, "So for the sake of introduction, I'm Samuel Pearce, the captain of Wellesley's Tankery team, and this is my 2IC, Angela Clark."

"I'm Anzu Kadotani, the student council president of Oarai Girls," the redhead replied, before gesturing to her subordinates, "This is Momo Kawashima, the PR representative, and Yuzu Koyama, the Vice President. I believe you've already met Miho Nishizumi, the leader of our tankery team."

"I most assuredly have. And if I'm not mistaken, the three of you on the student council crew Oarai's Jagdpanzer 38(t), no?"

"That's correct," Momo said. "But that's of secondary importance. We wanted to discuss how better to coordinate our forces with yours during the upcoming match. As you are probably aware, we face a bit of an uphill struggle, so we'd like it if we could cooperate as best as possible."

"Of course, that goes without saying," Pearce answered. "I was actually impressed by the commendable speed with which you contacted us to begin that process. Did you perchance have any ideas for how we could go about coordinating our forces, Miss Nishizumi?"

Miho perked up at the sound of her name being mentioned, and quickly racked her brains to remember the different ideas she'd come up with the evening prior to the meeting.

"To start with I would like it if we could share information on our team rosters so that we know what we are working with with regard to each other's forces. I'm sure you already have a solid idea of what possess, as we roughly know what tanks you have, but it just makes it easier if we have concrete line-up data. Furthermore, I would like us to begin pooling any data we might have on the teams we are facing."

"Agreed," Pearce replied, "We will send you a copy of our team roster as soon as possible, and will await yours in return. As for any intelligence we have on our opponents, I believe we might be able to offer some insight into what Bradley utilises, although I can't guarantee its complete accuracy. I assume Oarai might be able to provide some semblance of an idea regarding Kuromorimine's composition, since if I'm not mistaken you were once a student there, Miss Nishizumi."

Miho nodded in response. "While I can't say what Kuromorimine will use with complete accuracy, I don't believe they have purchased anything since I left, so I can give you an overview of their forces."

"Now we've got intelligence sharing out of the way," Angela spoke up, "Do you perchance have any ideas how we could reconcile our tactical doctrines to ensure our forces coordinate better?"

It was here Miho faltered a little. She'd had some interesting preliminary ideas as to how the cadets and Oarai could work well together, but there was clearly a rather large gulf of difference between the two forces, in training, command style and operational capability. In the short time she'd had to come up with ideas, the youngest Nishizumi simply had not been able to come up with a complete plan to solve that issue.

"Well," she began, "I think the best we can do is have more conferences and discuss tactics and strategy with each other at least on the level of planning, since it'd be difficult for us to actually have physical training exercises with each other prior to the match."

"That was our conclusion too," Pearce said. "Our school carriers make it difficult to physically visit each other, particularly with our tanks in tow. But I believe we might have a solution."

"What would that be?"

"It's quite a simple one." A faint smile tugged at Pearce's lips. "How would you like to come and stay with us at Wellesley?"

**1200hrs – Wellesley Campus Grounds**

"Out of all of them in that meeting I thought the one with the monocle was the least likely to have an outburst like that. I mean we did drop a bit of a surprise on them, but still…"

"Her stern demeanour might have been relatively convincing at first, but in some ways it felt like she was trying too hard to be intimidating and so lost a lot of its efficacy."

"Yeah, she might be able to keep her own classmates in line with it, but it sure as hell won't fly here. She'll find us cadets are made of sterner stuff."

Wellesley's two cadet commanders had left their conference some fifteen minutes prior, having hashed out the details of their plan for Oarai's tankery team taking up residence on the _Dauntless_. Once Miho and the Student Council had recovered from their surprise at being invited to the academy they had quickly accepted, Anzu immediately approving the venture. Following that, Pearce and Clark quickly briefed their counterparts on what their team could expect on board, some of the rules they had to follow, and when scheduled practices could begin, while Yuzu went to talk to the naval academy girls about a change of course for the Zuikaku. After arranging another short meeting the next day, they had bidden farewell to the Oarai girls, before proceeding to the headmaster to confirm that their plan was going ahead. With his assent given, Pearce and Clark departed, boots clacking on the concrete of the office forecourt, conversing lightly.

"I will admit though, I am interested to see what these girls have to bring to the table for our team," Pearce said. "I think this partnership could add something new to our arsenal."

"How so?" Angela asked.

"I think they can give us the element of unpredictability," Sam said. "Whereas we cadets have been saturated in military ideas since attending this school, and as a result look at combat situations from a doctrinally sound viewpoint, Oarai is precisely the opposite. They have no formal military schooling, they've only restarted their tankery program this year, and they have no coherent tactical doctrine."

"Ah, so you think they have a fresh perspective," Angela replied. "Where we follow what would be the standard operational practice in any situation, they come up with their own unique solutions that we might not have thought of."

"Exactly my point. I think we've become too constrained by the book, or rather we don't see anything other than the book, and learning a new approach to tankery from some of the best may go some way to rectifying that. Moreover, I also think we're using the wrong book."

"I get what you mean about a new approach, but what do you mean we're using the wrong book?" Clark asked, tilting her head slightly as she walked.

"What I mean is that we have approached tankery in the same way we would approach a mock battle in a war game. But thus far our opponents have kept stressing that tankery is a sport, a contest. I think they might be right."

Clark pondered the concept for a second as the pair continued their leisurely stroll across the carrier, a faint trace of a frown on her face. It had been a thought that had crossed her mind prior to this point, but she'd been more concerned with the end result than the method required to get there, and so had neglected to put serious thought into it.

"I suppose there are a number of elements differentiating it from a traditional war game, a lack of combined arms for one. Not only that, but there's a distinct lack of risk involved, usually, which allows, and indeed encourages, unorthodox and non-standard practice. I take it these are the sort of differences that you believe make our tactics invalid?" she asked.

"Not invalid," Pearce answered, "Merely unsuited, or perhaps incomplete might be a better way to put it. We have proven that they work after all, in our last few matches, but not as effectively as we would hope. Nothing can replace good gunnery and tank handling skills, but it is perhaps how we employ them that needs an overhaul. And if we need new tactics, why not learn from the best?"

"I'm following you now I think. If we can modify our more conventional approach with some of the more unorthodox stratagems that Oarai employ, we have both a broader playbook and a more solidly developed doctrine from which to draw, so we'll be less predictable and more flexible, right?"

"Precisely," Pearce said. "I did promise you that I'd do my utmost to make sure we won after all."

Clark coloured a little, but said nothing in response, leaving the two to walk quietly for a while. They'd long since left the campus ground behind, and were now instead wandering down the peaceful green belt on the outskirts of the carrier. Angela enjoyed strolling round this area on her days off, as the fresh air and the outdoors were calming, and reminded her of wandering round St Nicholas' park back home. She'd found herself coming here even more often since they'd started doing tankery, the feeling of being cooped up in a noisy, sweaty box for long periods of time leaving her with a greater appreciation for the relaxing effect of nature. After a while, she spoke up again.

"Hey Pearce, do you like the outdoors?"

Her diminutive counterpart had been immersed in his own thoughts, and was taken relatively off guard by such an innocuous question.

"Hmm? I suppose so. I like to go for walks on an evening, or when I feel stressed, it helps to clear my head. What of yourself?"

"I like it, it's peaceful. Perfect to get away from people who drive me up the wall."

"So you'll be here later, happy to get away from me, no?" Pearce said jokingly, only to be swatted on the back playfully by Clark.

"If that was the case I'd have told you to go home when we finished up earlier," Angela replied, before she favoured Pearce with a soft smile. "You're alright company when you're not being despondent all the time."

"I'll keep that in mind."

The pair turned off the park's path a few minutes later, heading towards their destination. As it had the previous day, the bell above the door to _Cone With the Wind_ tinkled lightly as they crossed the threshold. Despite the relatively nice weather there were comparatively few people in the quaint little ice cream parlour, although a familiar redhead was behind the counter.

"Welcome to Cone With The Wind! I'm Abigail, and I'll be serving you today. Would you like to sit-in or take out?"

Pearce looked at Angela for her decision, an unusual inversion of their usual working relationship. Clark shrugged.

"We'll sit in, thank you."

Emerging from behind the counter with a cheerful spring in her step, Abigail led them over to an empty booth next to the window that ran round the shop. As her customers took their seats and had a cursory glance over the menu, the waitress' eyes lit up in recognition.

"Ah, you were here the other day, right?" she said to Pearce, giving him a congenial grin. "Just couldn't keep you away, could we?" Addressing both cadets she asked, "What can I get you both then?"

"A Caramel Sundae please," Angela said.

"I'll have the Four Chocolate Sundae please," Pearce added. He'd spotted the delectable treat the previous day, and had been looking forward to sating his appetite for sweet treats when he came back here.

"Coming right up," Abigail said, disappearing behind the counter to prepare the pair's sweets. As she did so, Clark made herself comfortable, slouching a little more in her seat before eyeing the man sat across from her.

"I didn't realise you had a sweet tooth," she remarked. Pearce shrugged.

"Well I would imagine that would be because we haven't spent that much time with each other socially before now," he replied. "But you are correct, I am partial to sweet things, although based on your order I'd say that's the same for you." The latter part of his statement was said with a hint of mirth in his voice.

"I-It's an ice cream parlour, there's nothing but sweet things to order!" Angela retorted testily, much to Pearce's amusement. "And it did sound really good…" she trailed off, in what her counterpart thought was an adorable manner.

"I doubt you'll be disappointed," Pearce said, "Last time I came here the ice cream was quite delightful. But tell me, is there anything you prefer more? Cakes or trifles maybe?"

"I'm not an overly fussy eater, so any of those sound good. Why are you interested anyway?" Clark said, eyeing Pearce with a suspicious gaze.

The bespectacled cadet could not help feeling a little put out by Clark's defensive attitude. As soon as he'd made some inroads past her staunchly entrenched aggressive persona, she tried to throw up another wall in front of him. He decided to mitigate any damage he might have done with some appeasement.

"Since we've been spending more time together, I thought it might be prudent to learn more about you. I enjoy getting to know my friends better, so I'm sorry if you felt I was prying."

The statement had its intended effect, thoroughly mollifying Clark, who if anything looked a little guilty for a brief moment. "No, it's fine. I'm just not used to people asking questions of me unless they've got some sort of ulterior motive." She gave him a pointedly exaggerated glare. "You don't have any ulterior motive, do you?"

"None at all," Pearce replied. "Although it is useful to know for if we do go out anywhere in the future."

"Oh ho, planning another date I see?" Another voice chimed in, as Abigail reappeared from behind the counter with their orders, a massive grin on her face as she set both sundaes down in front of her customers. "If you want I can recommend some nice places to eat, although Wellesley is a bit lacking because it's an academy…"

"It's not a date!" both cadets protested simultaneously, interrupting Abigail's rambling. There was a hint of disappointment there, which only deepened as they heard the other's protest.

"Oh," Abigail said, her grin falling from her face, "My apologies. I'll leave you to it then, enjoy your ice cream." She vanished swiftly behind the counter once more.

The two cadets dug into their sundaes without much preamble, preferring not to say anything, and so the meal passed in an uneventful silence. Despite the saccharine sweetness of the ice cream, there was a bitter taste on their tongues, one that languished throughout, and both Pearce and Clark knew why. It was Clark that eventually broke the silence. "Bitch," she muttered, glaring at the counter behind which Abigail had disappeared, and had yet to return.

"Hmm?" Pearce looked up from his own sundae, having only caught that his counterpart had made a sound.

"Never mind. I'm just annoyed that that waitress put such a downer on our meal. It hadn't been that bad up until she stuck her oar in."

"I admit it was a little frustrating but I honestly think it was a mistake a lot of people could make," Pearce said. "I don't think you should hold it against her. And anyway, despite that, I've still greatly enjoyed spending more time with you." A tinge of red coloured his cheeks as he spoke, something that was mirrored on Clark. The scowl that she'd been wearing fell away, replaced with a content smirk.

"Yeah, I suppose it's not been too bad. So, shall we bail?"

Setting aside his now empty bowl, Pearce nodded, before heading over to the counter to settle the bill, served by an apologetic Abigail.

"I'm sorry about that, I honestly thought that you two were together on a date. So there's nothing going on between you at all?"

"No, there isn't. But one can dream…" Pearce replied, the latter half of his statement little more than a murmur, although it was a murmur that the waitress caught. The redhead smiled as the cadet turned on his heel and headed for the door, where Clark was already waiting for him.

"Hope to see you again!" Abigail chirped, as the bell over the door tinkled.

After the two cadets had left the ice cream parlour, they wandered back into the green belt of the Dauntless, simply enjoying the good weather and each other's company. It was at least mid-afternoon before they headed back to the accommodation blocks. As they began to ascend the stairs towards Angela's floor of her college, Clark asked "So once you're rid of me for the day, what are you planning on doing?"

"I hadn't particularly planned anything," Pearce replied. "I had no idea how long you were going to put up with me for, so I didn't schedule anything else."

"Surely you've got something to do though."

"Hmm, I suppose I'll probably ask Chloe if she's free to spar. She agreed to tutor me so that I can improve."

Fishing her keys out of her pocket, Clark opened the door to her room. "I've got a better idea." Before Pearce could ask what it was, the door slammed shut, and nary a minute later his 2IC reappeared in loose-fitting combats and a black tank top. Before Pearce could fully appreciate the way it accentuated her athletic frame, he found himself being dragged by the arm back towards the stairs. "I'll fight you instead. Now let's go get your kit, we're burning daylight here!"

Pearce couldn't help but smile.

**Chapter End**

**And that's one more chapter completed! I'll admit, I was aiming to have it out at the start of this month, but stuff happened and I got distracted. But I'm back now, exams are done, and I've got summer to work on new additions to this story. Hopefully you'll be seeing some more frequent updates, although I'm not making any promises. :P**

**I'm also planning chapters to a new story, a Log Horizon one this time, and so those might crop up at some point, but I'm not planning on doubling up on projects, they'll just be testers to see what the general opinion of my story concept is. I really liked the concept of the series, so I ended up planning a story of my own during the exam period.**

**Also, wasn't the GuP film awesome! I strongly recommend it to any fans of the original series, it was great. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and as usual feel free to leave reviews or PM me on anything you liked or disliked about it, or any queries you might have. I'm off to Tankfest this weekend, but I'll hopefully be back in a month with another chapter for you, so I'll catch ya then.**

**HereticalShinigami**


	28. Chapter 28: The Pact of School

**Hey there! I know it's been a while since I've posted (a solid two months in fact), but life got in the way. (Plus this chapter's like an extra 3,500 words so you basically get nearly a chapter and a half). In the time since I last posted, I've been on holiday, graduated university with a first class honours degree, got my first car, built a new computer, been accepted onto a masters course and started writing a trial chapter for a new story. So you could say I've been kinda busy. But worry not, I'm alive and still writing.**

**The first section of this chapter was created from an omake written by Warmach1ne32, who kindly offered to write out the spar Clark and Pearce were going to have from the last chapter. Since it was pretty damn awesome, I have since edited it and made it into a full-blown part of this story, as I thought it was too cool to leave out. So without too much further delay, here's chapter 28 of Open Warfare.**

**Chapter Start**

**Saturday, February 15****th**** – Carrier Dauntless, 1530hrs**

Following a lightning fast trip home, which saw Pearce trade in his uniform for a pair of MTP combats and a black polo shirt while Clark tapped her foot impatiently outside the door, the Wellesley CO and XO made their way to the gym the cadets usually used for sparring. It was empty, as per usual, as weekend training regimes usually didn't see the hall employed, and most other students were busy enjoying their weekend. The pair's footsteps echoed as they walked into the cavernous space.

"So, what sort of sparring are we going to be enjoying today then? Fencing?" Pearce asked as he began to set aside unnecessary items on one of the gym's benches.

Angela scoffed. "We aren't going with that glorified ritual and its first blood rules, we're not a boarding school. Or maybe you have some old Etonian in you?" Throwing one of the equipment closets open and pulling out her piece of choice she said with a smirk, "Nah, we're going to do some HEMA sparring today."

Pearce eyed the blade Clark was grasping with a mixture of curiosity and dread. It was a blade near as tall as he was, 150cm from pommel to tip, and from the way Angela was swinging the longsword it was a weapon she was particularly fond of. Finishing her practice swings, Angela plucked a fencing mask, padded jacket and a pair of padded gloves from another rack in the locker before hollering over to her comrade, "Come on and get your kit, we're burning daylight here!" A wicked grin crossed her face. "And I want the most time I can get out of this."

In response to his companion's shout Pearce padded across the hall and into the equipment closet, where he was greeted with a veritable wall of steel. The usual foils, epees, shortswords and all other manner of blades lined the walls, but there were a few more outlandish items amongst them, not least a halberd propped up just inside the door. However, the diminutive cadet ignored all of the fancy pieces in favour of a simple sabre, reminiscent of one his forebears might have wielded in the Napoleonic wars, roughly 90cm length with a neatly tapered curve to the blade. Weapon chosen, Pearce donned his own protective gear to see Angela already prepared.

"Ready to lose?" she smirked, right foot sliding backward to put her at a 45-degree angle to Pearce as she readied her stance, blade coming up to point at Pearce's throat.

"Actually, I plan to win," Pearce replied, moving into his own stance, tucking his left arm behind his back, with body at a more raked angle and his blade out towards his opponent.

"We'll see about that," Angela said, grinning ferally as she slowly prowled forward. Her first move almost caught Pearce off guard, as a lightning quick thrust came in straight towards the bespectacled cadet's face, with Clark using the greater reach of her blade to her advantage. Pearce parried the blow and stepped quickly inside of her guard before riposting with a downward slash, prompting Clark to block it with her crossguard, the steel audibly ringing as the blades clashed.

Using her superior strength to her advantage, Clark applied pressure to the bound blades, causing Pearce to grit his teeth as he shoved back to maintain the current bind. Angela smirked as the balance continued to shift into her favour, her opponent's sword moving ever closer to his own throat, only for that to vanish as Pearce stepped forward and to the right, freeing his sabre for a cut in towards her left leg. Clark parried desperately, but it left her in too closed a stance to capitalise on her thwarting of Pearce's attack, forcing her into a series of hasty blocks against Pearce's more nimble weapon until Wellesley's CO ran out of momentum. When Pearce made his last strike, Angela met the attack with one of her own, using her weapon's greater heft to stop the slash dead on her crossguard with a loud clang.

Running swiftly out of patience, Angela growled as she used her off-hand to grip the pommel of her blade and spun her sword out of the bind into another swift attack. With scant milliseconds to react, Pearce redirected the strike with a careful motion of his sabre, attempting to leave his opponent over-extended. Ignoring the numbing sensation that the impact of Clark's blade sent up his arm, Sam capitalised on this opening, aiming for Angela's exposed right shoulder, only for his XO to leap nimbly backwards.

"Careful," Pearce cautioned, as both combatants paused to take a few mouthfuls of air, "I nearly had you there."

"Nearly isn't enough to win you victory," Angela smirked. "But it's as close as you're going to get."

"Well, if you're so sure, how about a small wager to sweeten the deal?" Pearce offered, playing to Angela's competitive side. The fight had gotten his blood up, and a grin threatened to split the normally reserved cadet's features.

"Go on…"

"First blood, winner gets their dinner paid for."

Clark licked her lips. "I like that idea. Hope your wallet is prepared."

The pair reassumed their stances. Angela once more chose to be the aggressor and closed the distance swiftly, leading with a straight thrust much like the previous clash. The gambit was met by a circular parry from Pearce, deftly deflecting the larger blade before moving in for a counter, only to be thwarted by Clark's guard again. Rotating her wrists, Angela disengaged her blade from the lock, into a deft downward strike that would have cleaved Pearce's head in two had it been a sharp blade, only for Pearce to dodge to the side, aiming a quick swipe at Clark's side as he did so. However, Angela pivoted on the spot and used her falling blade to bat the sabre safely away, earning both fighters a brief respite as they reset. Panted breaths could be heard from both combatants as they greedily gulped down air, yet neither their gaze nor their stance wavered, not wanting to be caught off guard by their opponent.

Eventually it was Pearce who broke the deadlock, stepping in with what appeared to be a diagonal strike towards Angela's right shoulder, only for him to flick his wrist halfway through the motion, changing the trajectory of his cut to the opposite side. Although an unexpected manoeuvre, Angela was unfazed as she stepped to the right while bringing her longsword across her body to parry the strike. Dissatisfied with his attack's failure, but not wishing to lose momentum, Pearce unleashed a flurry of strikes from all quarters, only for Angela to adopt a hanging guard, her blade pointed straight down in front of her, which enabled her block all his attacks merely by shifting her posture. Not to be outdone, Pearce feinted to the left, making it look as if he planned to use his sabre's curvature to slip around Angela's guard, only for Clark to call his bluff as he shifted, using her crossguard to lock his sabre in place, a smirk appearing on her face as Pearce realised his mistake. Stalemate achieved, rendering Pearce unable to use his more nimble blade to his advantage, Wellesley's XO released her off-hand from the longsword's pommel before gripping the blade itself and slamming the cross-guard into Pearce's forehead, sending him sprawling to the floor. A look of concern flitted across Clark's face before her counterpart began to haul himself to his feet.

"That stung," Pearce said, dusting himself off, trying not to let show that his head felt like a marching band was parading around it.

"Pffft, I've hit you harder," Clark replied, "But it looks like I'll be enjoying a meal courtesy of that little bump on your noggin. I've been wanting to eat at one of the restaurants in the logistics hub for ages, and it looks like you're my meal ticket."

"Well then, perhaps you'd care to up the ante a little then, in exchange for a best two out of three?" Pearce offered.

"Trying to save your wallet? It's not going to help, but you're on. Winner gets a full course meal at The Duke's Table instead." Angela shot her opponent a sly grin. "You know, I've heard that the cost of an evening at The Duke's Table may well run into three figures. So prepare yourself, cos your bank account is going to be crying at the end of this."

Pearce reassumed his stance immediately, waiting for Clark to strike. It did not take long for his XO to launch her attack, leading with a lunge for a third time. However, this time Pearce was prepared, neatly pivoting around her strike before slipping under Clark's guard to slash her across the stomach. Angela stumbled backwards, gasping for breath, as the wind had been thoroughly knocked out of her.

"I believe that is one all."

"Oh you're in for it now," Angela growled, leaping in to re-engage her opponent with more than a hint of rage in her voice. Her blows hammered heavily into Pearce's guard, forcing the diminutive cadet into a continual retreat with no respite. Despite that, there was a sense of elation in both fighters, a feeling of happiness in being pushed to the limits by a skilled opponent, especially one that they connected so well with. Despite the pressure of the combat, a smile tugged at Pearce's lips, threatening to betray his enjoyment of the fight.

Eventually Pearce slipped around Clark's guard again, breaking the taller girl's rhythm and shifting the furious battle into a new phase, one of strike, parry, counter-strike and dodge. Every blow was matched by another, steel meeting steel to send a ringing tone throughout the gym. However, it was not to last, as Pearce deflected yet another of Angela's strikes with a circular parry before stepping in for a counter-attack. Clark however brought up her cross-guard once more to thwart the manoeuvre, before hammering the pommel of her blade into Pearce's arm. Reeling from the force and with his sword arm numb, Pearce could offer little resistance as Angela pulled him bodily into her, resting her blade on the front of his neck while his back pressed into her chest.

"It looks like I've won," Clark whispered into his ear in an amused tone. Pearce was quite glad for the fencing mask he was wearing as more than a hint of red tinged his cheeks.

"It seems you have. Now, could you perhaps let me go?"

"Uh uh uh, what's the magic word?"

"I don't believe in magic. However, good manners compel me to say to please."

"That'll do," Clark laughed, before dropping her smaller comrade to the floor. As the pair pulled off their masks and gear, she spoke again. "Anyway, now I've got a good feel for what you need to do to improve. Firstly, you need to work on your physicality." Before Pearce could protest she continued, "I know you're small and not exactly the most physical of fighters, but it is a weakness that you can still make up for. You tend to spend more time with your nose in a book than you do in the gym, and I think you need to rectify that if you want to see some improvements, otherwise you'll always be at a disadvantage against more physical opponents. You're already reasonably light on your feet, some good cardio work should make you a scarily fast fighter, especially with a blade like that. However, you also have another glaring weakness; you do not improvise. You have an almost perfect grasp of the textbook manoeuvres, and your execution is damn good; it translates to solid skill. But you're predictable. Every counter is the recommended counter. Every attack looks like it came from a kata diagram. Even your feints can be read if you're perceptive enough. You need to learn to make your own plays as opportunities arise, both in a fight and in life, you can't plan for every contingency."

She tossed a water bottle at Pearce, who nodded his thanks before removing his gloves and taking a hefty swig. His eyes began to wander, before settling on Angela, as he found they so often did nowadays. The Wellesley XO cut a fine figure in her gym clothes in Pearce's eyes, with an athletic litheness to her frame that only reminded her counterpart of his own deficiencies, causing him to feel self-conscious for a fleeting moment. He was broken out of his reverie by Clark speaking to him again.

"Oh, and Pearce? If I catch you failing to capitalise on openings or refusing to strike vital points in our next spar, I'll bloody kill you."

"Next spar?" Pearce asked curiously.

"Well of course! With a free meal on offer every time I beat you, how could I refuse?" Angela said jovially. "Oh, and don't forget about our bet! Since I won, you're taking me to The Duke's Table. I'll handle the reservation, so you just pick me up tomorrow, 7pm sharp. Got that sweetheart?"

With a smirk and a playful wink, Clark exited the hall, leaving a very red-faced Pearce absolutely stunned.

It would be several minutes, and half a journey home later, that the adrenaline wore off and Clark realised exactly what she'd said while riding high on her win, leaving her in much the same condition.

**Sunday, February 17****th**** – 1100hrs**

The next morning found Clark and Pearce back in Captain Hart's office once more, only this time the atmosphere was much more subdued. There was in fact almost total silence, broken only by the scratching of Hart's pen across some papers he was editing for a conference on the next weekend. The latter watched the awkward scene before him with some mild amusement, as his two pupils pointedly avoided eye contact with each other and refused to speak. Hart didn't know what had transpired between them, but he was perceptive enough to notice the signs, and were it not for the fact they were two of his most socially inept students it might have been quite cute. Smiling benignly, he turned back to editing his lecture on British tank theorists of the interwar period, knowing that the situation would resolve itself soon enough.

For the pair in question, soon enough was still too long a time, as seconds seemed to drag by for hours. Following the events of the previous evening they had neglected to arrange to walk together to Hart's office, both Clark and Pearce feeling too embarrassed to message the other, and neither of them had spoken to the other since their arrival, leading to a sense of tension that could be cut with a knife. For Pearce, he was still in a state of shock from yesterday, and didn't wish to open his mouth lest he prove that he was just imagining all of this as part of a fever dream. Angela was in some ways similar, since she couldn't process how some of the words she'd said yesterday had passed her lips, and decided to sit in silence in case she somehow added to the embarrassment she felt. While she often advocated a 'take action, think later' approach to a lot of issues, preferring to act decisively than merely wait, Angela worried that her impulsive action the previous day had perhaps made Pearce uncomfortable, hence his currently mute demeanour. It didn't help that he was hard to read either, meaning Clark rarely knew what he truly thought at any one time. As such, she decided to stay quiet, less she somehow worsen what she thought had been a negative event.

Fortunately for the duo, they were not forced to sit in silence for long as the monitor in front of them began to emit the ringing tone of an incoming call. With an almost audible sigh of relief, Pearce accepted the call through and the pair were greeted by the trio of Miho, Momo and Anzu, with Yuzu floating around in the background directing the rest of the student council's lackeys.

"Good morning ladies," Pearce greeted cordially.

"Mornin'," Anzu replied in her usual casual manner, giving a lazy wave towards the camera. "What would ya like to cover today?"

"Just a few logistical things that we would like to get out of the way, as well as a couple of command decisions that I was hoping we could finalise so I might draw up some preliminary plans prior to our meeting in person. Firstly, have you been able to liaise with the captain on your carrier regarding a course change?"

"I have," Yuzu chirped up, appearing in shot as she did so. "Given our position near Iwate prefecture, and yours just off the northern tip of Ishikawa, the captain believes it would be easiest for us to sort out the transfer of our tanks to your carrier in Funagawa port. It's got sufficient berths for several carriers, so docking shouldn't be an issue. At optimal speed they estimate it will take us two, maybe three days to reach the port, and then a short while for us to unload, but we should be back underway by Thursday, if not Wednesday afternoon if we're lucky."

"Which leaves us with a week and a half to whip our teams into a coherent fighting force," Clark said. "Hardly what I'd want going into a fight like this."

"Still, it's good news, and better than I'd hoped" Pearce said. "Thank you, Miss Koyama, I'll pass this information along to our head-teacher, who will make the necessary arrangements with the naval crew aboard."

"Of course, it was no trouble at all."

"The second point we wished to discuss is also one about your stay with us, as Captain Hart wished to talk about academic arrangements."

Hearing his name called Hart stood up from his desk and moved into the line of sight of the camera. "Yes, I wanted to ask as to whether your teachers would be assigning work for you while you were on this trip and if you required classrooms to be opened up to you or not. If certain parts of our curriculum are matched with yours, your students are also more than welcome to attend classes with the cadets, as although they are to be training with you our team is also expected to attend some non-tank based lessons."

Momo nodded. "That is much appreciated, and it would be of great use to us if we could get some classroom space to work in."

"That won't be an issue, I'll see that you are allocated some."

"Thank you. Is there anything else we needed to cover with regards to administration?"

"Not that I can think of," Pearce replied. "I'll contact you if there's anything urgent of that ilk. However, I wish to address a couple of things more related to the match itself, namely how our command structure will work. Miss Nishizumi, I am interested in how much integration you believe our forces should attain. Would you prefer that we operate in separate, but supporting echelons, or that we mix our tanks together into a more combined group?

Miho barely needed time to mull over her response. "I think we should try to work more closely together, so that we can rely on each other's strengths more intimately. Given that our opponents have a superior number of tanks to us, we should try our best to make sure we are better coordinated so we can close the gap."

"That was my thought too, but I thought I should consult you before I presumed too much. If it's alright with you, I'll begin drawing up some team exercises and drills that will help us strengthen our unit cohesion for the match, as well as some preliminary ideas as to how our strategy might unfold."

"Yes, that will be very helpful," Miho said, feeling some of her trepidation at working together with the cadets melt away. She'd in part expected the Wellesley students to be quite leery about working closely with people from outside their institutions, and either try to distance themselves from their partners or try and subordinate them. "I'll try to do the same, and we can exchange ideas when we meet."

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Pearce said. "Perhaps while your equipment is being loaded onto our carrier we can meet somewhere in the port? I also think we require a more cordial introduction than the sporadic meetings we've had in the last few weeks."

"I'd like that," Miho replied, smiling slightly. "If we can all get to know each other, it'll make working together that much easier."

"Splendid, I'll contact you to sort out the minutiae closer to the time. Other than that, I don't believe we have anything else we need to discuss." Pearce turned to Angela. "Is there anything you would like to add Miss Clark?"

Angela, who'd only been half-paying attention to the ongoing conversation adopted a look of concentration as she wracked her brain for potential things they needed to cover. "Do we know if we can supply all of Oarai's tanks with ammunition and fuel from our stocks? Or will we need them to bring it aboard with them?"

Pearce directed a questioning look towards Hart. The older man responded, "I think we should be able to make arrangements to supply Oarai's tanks with ammunition and fuel, however I would recommend that Oarai brings aboard at least a full ammunition complement for each of their tanks in case we cannot secure them before we require live-firing practice to commence."

"That's very kind of you," Momo said. "We'll make sure we have full shot lockers ready to be brought aboard with us."

"No problem at all," Hart replied, "After all, if you are willing to abandon the comforts of home to work with us, the least we can do in return is be gracious hosts."

"Anything else ya wanted to talk about?" Anzu asked, directing her question to the two Wellesley cadets.

"Not that I can think of," Pearce answered. "Again, if it's urgent we can always contact each other prior to Wednesday."

"Yup! We'll see ya then!" the student council president said, punctuating her speech with a lazy wave.

"Until then," Pearce replied, ending the call. Reclining in his chair, he looked over to his tutor. "I think that went well sir, our arrangements are sorted and we seem to at least be on cordial terms with our allies, so it looks promising. Thank you again for your help in organising sir, without it we would be in a far worse position of readiness for our next battle."

"I'm sure you wouldn't have had any trouble on your own, but you're welcome nonetheless," Hart said. The pleased tone he used made Pearce feel slightly guilty, since the latter had gone over Hart's head to expedite arrangements for Oarai's transfer despite being aware that his instructor had some confidence issues surrounding his ability to guide his charges. "As ever, if you need me to arrange anything for the team, you just have to ask."

Fortunately for Pearce, Hart didn't pick up on his student's inability to meet his gaze. "I'll keep that in mind sir, thank you." The bespectacled cadet retrieved his coat from the coat hook in the corner and folded it over his left arm, but paused before he headed for the exit. "I've already drawn up some preliminary ideas for cooperative training sessions with Oarai, but I'd appreciate your insight if that's not any trouble sir."

"No, of course not. I'd be happy to help."

"Thank you sir."

Pearce then exited the room, Clark trailing quietly after him with a quick farewell to their tutor. As the door closed, Hart smiled softly, before returning to his work.

Once they were out of the building, Angela spoke directly to Pearce for the first time that day. "I guess you felt a bit guilty about going over Hart's head didn't you?"

Boots clacked on the courtyard ground for a while before Pearce replied, "He means well, and wants to help, which I intend to support him in doing. I imagine you would be less than pleased with me if I went over your head on something you were meant to be in charge of, so put yourself in Captain Hart's shoes for a second. We have undermined his authority fairly frequently, and he was already somewhat uncomfortable in this role to begin with, as it appears to have just been thrust upon him. We should not be trying to make his position yet more awkward."

"You'd need a stepladder to go over my head," Clark teased in return, before spotting Pearce's unamused expression, "But I get your point. So I take it you're going to involve him more actively now?"

"Yes," Pearce said. "Captain Hart has a lot of knowledge to offer, even if he hasn't done tankery himself, and he's already proven that he's both efficient at both securing supplies and drawing up plans. Plus, I think it's the right thing to do."

The pair walked in silence as they made their way back towards their dorms. Both of them were struggling to find the words to say to each other; nothing seemed to feel right to bring up now. The sky, overcast since earlier that morning, seemed to reflect their dull moods. As a result, a journey that should only have taken a quarter of an hour felt like hours dragging by. It was only as Clark and Pearce were about to part ways that the latter finally spoke, gently tapping Angela's arm to get her attention.

"I'll see you later, Miss Clark," he said, pacing towards the stairs up towards his room. He paused at the bottom, before smiling towards her. "After all, I believe I still owe you dinner."

Angela took a second to recover before answering back, a smirk plastered on her face. "Damn right you do Pearce! After all, a bet is a bet, and you lost."

"Actually, I don't think I did," Pearce murmured, attempting to speak softly so Angela wouldn't hear him. Unfortunately for him, she could lip read, and coloured appropriately, although recovered her composure sufficiently that Pearce didn't notice when he smiled at her again. "Well, far be it for me to renege on a deal. I'll pick you up at seven Angela."

"Alright, see you later then."

The pair split off, Pearce ascending the stairs and Angela heading towards her block, although as the former reached his floor he paused before leaning over the balcony and calling to Angela.

"Actually Angela, now I think about it, I don't have anything on this afternoon. Perhaps you'd care for a spar?" He could almost see her feral grin as she turned around to look up at the top floor balcony.

"You. Me. Sparring hall. 30 minutes."

Pearce shivered. Something about Clark's tone had promised a thorough workout, although not a painless one, but perversely he was almost looking forward to it. However, his blood ran cold when he made his way along the balcony to his own dorm, only to spot Taylor outside his room, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Spending some quality time with our dear XO?" he teased, causing Pearce to colour slightly, only to school his features into a typical mask of neutrality.

"I had a meeting with her and the Oarai team leaders," Pearce remarked, attempting to divert the conversation. "Or should our Executive Officer not be present for such?"

"Ah, but I don't recall meeting her for sparring sessions being a part of official business," Chris said, refusing to be diverted by the verbal bait. "Or taking her out to dinner. But then again, maybe I'm mistaken."

Pearce glared at his friend. "You will not breathe a word of this, or you will be taking the fast way down to the ground floor."

"Why, did they install a new elevator?" Taylor joked, although he regretted it quickly. Pearce stared at him with a look so utterly unamused it was terrifying, and Chris swore he could see wisps of a malicious black aura wafting off his smaller comrade. This time, Pearce spoke in a too-sweet tone that seemed to promise a great deal of pain.

"I do hope that you aren't treating my private affairs with too strong a degree of levity," he said, "As that may have an adverse impact on your life expectancy."

"Erm, no, of course not," Chris backtracked nervously, "Certainly such matters should stay private and thus nobody will know about them."

The malicious aura vanished and Taylor let out an obvious sigh of relief. Pearce merely smiled politely and went to open his door. "Oh, well that is good news. Now do you mind if I ask why you were seeking me out?"

"Me and Katherine and the others wanted ta know if you fancied coming round to ours for a meal this evening, but it seems that you have other plans," Chris said, stepping through the door after Pearce, wiping his shoes on the mat as he did so. Before Pearce could offer an apology, the Wavell team captain waved it off. "Anyway, it's no trouble if you're busy, at least you aren't waving us off with work like ya used to."

"Work is a valid excuse," Pearce retorted, though it was half-hearted.

"Only if it's work that needs to be done," Taylor countered, "But I suppose you have gotten better with that one recently. Anyway, you mentioned Oarai before. Why were you talking with them?"

"Oh, yes. I was going to announce it tomorrow at training, but the federation has decided that the next match will be a 2v2 rather than the traditional pair of semi-finals. As such we have been paired with Oarai Girls High School against the combined team of Kuromorimine and Bradley Academy. The meetings that I was having with Miss Clark and the Oarai team today were to affirm our cooperation and plan out how we were going to do joint training sessions."

"That'd be kinda difficult, given that they live on a different carrier to us, ne?" Chris dropped into a seat as Pearce continued speaking, his voice drifting out from his bedroom as he began getting together his kit for a sparring session.

"Precisely, and it's why next week the Oarai tankery team will be joining us here at Wellesley, for the period leading up to our next match, so we can work together and get a feel for each other's fighting styles."

"That's a pretty good id-wait, what?" was Chris's eloquent response. Returning to the room in combats and a polo, Pearce raised a quizzical eyebrow at the nonplussed Taylor, before sitting down to pull a pair of trainers on.

"I'm fairly sure I didn't stutter, but just to be sure, around the middle of next week the 30 or so girls on the Oarai tankery team will be moving in with us for roughly a fortnight while we prepare for our match together."

"Yeah yeah, I got that," Chris replied, "But won't the team think this is a bit sudden? When you tell them they'll have, what, three days, before Oarai shows up to train with us. I'll bet at least one of the captains will be annoyed that you didn't consult them before taking that decision."

Pearce sighed and reclined in his chair. "Maybe, but time is a luxury we can ill afford. We are at a sore disadvantage in materiel, so it seems like the only way we can make good that deficit is to take swift and decisive action to mould our team into a cohesive force. If our teammates choose to make a fuss over this decision it is clear they are more concerned with undermining my command than with the good of our team." He waved off Chris before he could interject. "I may not have been the best leader thus far but I am trying to make amends for that, and if they would rather destroy the bridges I want to rebuild, that is their prerogative. This was a decision that could not be made by committee, and all the prevarication of discussion would have led to us losing crucial days of preparation."

"I know, you don't need to convince me," Taylor said, "But I just wanted to point out that this is one of the reasons some people criticise your leadership. If you organise things and just expect people to follow, they are less likely to do so willingly than if you had involved them in the first place."

This caused Pearce to pause for a second. "Perhaps, but that assumes that they were willing to accept my leadership from the start. Nevertheless, I do see your point, perhaps I should be more conciliatory with our comrades than I have been thus far. Thank you Christopher."

"Hey, no worries, I just like being able to offer advice from time to time." Taylor grinned.

"Do you? I assumed your real passion was for causing havoc and irritating people," Pearce jested, standing up and heading to the door as he did so, Taylor following in his wake.

"Oh, you wound me so," Chris replied, reacting melodramatically. "You must tell me who writes your comebacks one day, maybe they can make shells that cut as deep."

"Well you would know, since you wrote them," Pearce shot back, "But then again, you were drunk at the time."

"Which time?"

"Every time."

Their little exchange of repartee over, the pair exited Pearce's dormitory, Taylor choosing to walk with Pearce as the latter headed towards the sparring hall. The overcast sky had cleared somewhat, letting a welcome, though faint, sun warm the air, helping to counteract the chill sea breeze, which brought with it the sharp tang of the sea.

"So then, you reckon we'll make a good team with these Oarai girls?" Chris asked. From what he'd learned of them from their limited interactions, they were nice enough, maybe a little eccentric, but who wasn't in this tournament? And despite their victories, Taylor hadn't detected any arrogance in the Oarai team, which seemed promising for cooperation, but Chris still wanted a second opinion.

"I think they were probably the best team we could have allied with for interpersonal reasons, but the worst in terms of paper strength. Overall I think this is the best deal we could have gotten, since I doubt we would work well with Bradley or Kuromorimine, and on top of that were we partnered with Bradley we would be up against a sibling alliance. In terms of tactics I also believe our combined team has advantages, given the potential for learning and sharing between our doctrines, and both of our teams' tendency towards small unit tactics."

"Che, so not too bad then?"

"Not when one considers the alternatives no."

**Carrier Graf Zeppelin, Kuromorimine Girls High School – 1145hrs**

This was not the thought running through the head of Maho Nishizumi, who was currently sat in her office, waiting for contact from Bradley Academy. She had sent them a message via their central office more than an hour ago, asking to speak with the captain of their tankery team, and had yet to receive any form of reply. However, it was not the act of waiting for a reply that was beginning to wear on Maho's incredible patience, but rather the behaviour of her XO, whose constant tapping of her feet and intermittent pacing was made only more annoying by infrequent outbursts of verbal frustration. Eyeing Erika coolly as she continued tapping, Maho spotted the beginning of another rhetorical question.

"Who do these American louts think they are, keeping us waiting like this? It's unacceptable!"

The Nishizumi heiress declined to favour that question with an answer, instead relaxing further in her office chair, enjoying the soft comfort of the black leather as she read through some reports by the engineering crews and tried to tune out Erika. These fleeting peaceful moments were not to last, however, as almost immediately the phone on her desk began ringing. Maho picked up the handset and accepted the call.

"Maho Nishizumi speaking."

"Great! Didn't get the wrong number after all. Name's George Abrams, leader of Bradley Military Academy's tankery team. I've been told that we're to be working with you in the next round of the competition." The cadet's voice was a booming one, ameliorated by a slight drawl that betrayed his origins in one of the more southerly of America's states, perhaps Virginia or North Carolina. It also bore a strong note of pride, something Maho mentally noted down for later.

"That would be correct," she replied, "I contacted your school with the hope that we could arrange some form of joint practice sessions, or at least pool our intelligence and planning."

"Yeah I got your message, thought it wasn't too bad an idea. But really, how much planning do you think we need? There's two tiny teams against both of ours, Bradley could probably take them on our own without your help. There's no way they're a match for us."

Writing off Abrams' hubris as being born of ignorance rather than arrogance, Maho replied evenly, "Perhaps, but why take the risk? Surely a commander is beholden to their troops to do their utmost to ensure victory. It is better to fight united. As Guderian once said 'you hit them with your fist closed, not your fingers spread.'"

"You might have a point there," the Bradley cadet said, "Rushing in blind could cause us problems, even if they're unlikely. Fine then, what do ya think we need to do?"

"I would recommend we have a conference to plan out our strategies and share intelligence," Maho said decisively. "We must coordinate effectively in order to maximise our team's potential on the battlefield."

"Fine enough," Abrams answered, "But we ain't doing it over the phone. Better if we meet up and talk about it, face to face. I want to know who I have to trust to watch my back in a fight, and I can't get the measure of you when you're hundreds of miles away."

"That is… acceptable," the Nishizumi heir responded. "Where should we hold this meeting?" She'd been caught somewhat off kilter by Abrams' request, as it seemed to be a particular quirk of his personality that had surfaced, but also by his demeanour in general. Their disagreement in the café following Wellesley's match with Kutusov had left Maho with a distinctly negative impression of her opposite number from Bradley, as he'd come off as rude and impulsive, without a shade of discipline. This stood in contrast to the cadet she was currently talking to, who, although lacking in decorum, seemed to possess a keen intelligence, even tempered as it was by hubris. Perhaps there was some potential in this partnership after all, although a quick glance at Erika reminded Maho that she had not yet factored in their teams as a whole, given her XO's previously explosive disagreement with Bradley's CO. Nevertheless, she was not given too much time to ponder, as Abrams soon spoke once more.

"Our carrier is docking in a few days, so if y'can meet us in the port that'd be grand."

"We have access to our Focke-Achgelis 223, so we are capable of meeting you there."

"That's just dandy. I'll send you some contact numbers so we can communicate in the meantime, and so y'all don't get lost on the way there."

"Understood. We shall see you in a few days. Good day, Mr Abrams," Maho said, their business concluded.

"See ya round," was the informal response. Having been raised in a household that often maintained quite strong levels of formality, the eldest child of the Nishizumi was somewhat irked by the American's more lax tone as it filtered down the line, although she didn't let it show. Instead Maho replaced the phone on the receiver and looked out across the mahogany desk to her XO, who was waiting with an expectant look on her face.

"Well commander, what did they say?" Erika asked.

"They wanted to meet in person a few days from now so we can arrange our team more effectively. Their captain was quite adamant we do so, rather than organise over the phone."

"So we'll be going where then?"

"Funagawa port. We'll be needing the helicopter, so I would like you to make sure it is ready for then please."

"Understood, although I think we could avoid wasting a lot of time if they just named you overall commander now. These cadets can't possibly think they can fight better than the practitioners of the Nishizumi style."

Although by this point Maho was somewhat accustomed to tuning out most of Erika's prideful boasts, she could not help but agree in some small way with her second in command. She had little doubt that by the time they had even reached the rendezvous for their meeting she could have had a full plan of action drawn up for the next match, to be refined as they trained and gathered intelligence up until the battle. However, Maho equally acknowledged that this round would be much more difficult to win if they could not forge some sort of working relationship between the two teams, even if it was simply one of mutual support, and that Kuromorimine would be sorely tested if they took on their combined opponents alone. Their fifteen tanks would be outnumbered, something her crews were unused to, and despite her best efforts to rectify the situation were still largely dependent on her guidance rather than relying on their own initiative. As such, accommodations had to be made.

"But would you back down and accept being the junior partner Erika?" Maho asked. "Our allies also have their own pride to consider - Bradley Academy is almost of the same stature as West Point in their home country; only its comparative youth prevents it from competing with the latter in prestige. Much the same can be said of all of the visiting teams in the tournament; they pride themselves on turning out model recruits, the great generals of tomorrow. Coming from such a place, I do not think it unreasonable to have reservations about simply handing over command to allies with whom you've never cooperated."

"Hmmph. I suppose. As long as they don't get in our way, we'll have no problems with them."

With that, the blonde marched out of the room to begin making preparations for their trip, and most likely harangue Ritakio for breaking the Jagdpanther's tracks again, since the tank destroyer's commander had had her vehicle immobilised yet again in practice earlier that morning. On the bright side, Ritakio's crew were becoming exceedingly proficient at repairing the aforementioned damage, but Kuromorimine's blonde sub-commander still found this unacceptable. As Erika disappeared from sight, Maho exhaled wearily. It was exactly that sort of attitude from her XO that was going to cause problems with their erstwhile allies.

**Carrier USS Lexington – Tankery Team Club Room, 1200hrs**

"See ya round," Abrams drawled out to his counterpart from Kuromorimine, before placing the phone back on its receiver. He stood from where he had been perched on the edge of his ash-wood desk, stretching some feeling back into his legs. As George did so his attention was captured by the voice of another cadet.

"So boss, what's the deal with those Black Forest girls?" This voice had even more of a drawl to it than Abrams', but it was one partially born of laziness rather than dialect. It belonged to another male cadet, tall, even more so than George himself, but wiry, whereas the Bradley CO was broad of build. Black hair contrasted Abrams's blonde, and messily framed relatively boyish but handsome features.

George didn't look round, but wandered instead to the window, from which he could see down onto the parade ground, where a different cohort of cadets was on manoeuvres. "Well Cal, if I was to sum them up in two words, I'd say, professional and uptight. Their CO kept calling me 'Mr Abrams'; she was so damn formal I'd swear my collar was starting to starch itself. Not that yours couldn't use a bit of starch, Cal."

"Hey, hey, my uniform's plenty presentable," 'Cal' replied, hurriedly straightening a few of the myriad creases in his uniform, even as he continued to lie stretched out on the office's couch.

"In an origami competition maybe. Although judging by those creases, folding ain't your strong suit, is it?"

"You say that like you didn't sweet-talk Sadie into doing your laundry for ya."

Abrams shot a grin back at the other cadet. He got on well with his XO, Callum Lawson, or 'Cal', as Abrams insisted on calling him, and the two had a good working relationship. They didn't really hang around with each other much outside of the club, but it hadn't stopped the pair becoming friends of a sort.

"Shirts aside, I doubt we'll make a pretty pairing with Kuromorimine. We might be able to work together, aye, but I reckon there'll be more than a few snags."

"Maybe we can avoid what happened in that café last time," Callum said, causing Abrams to cringe inwardly. He hadn't wanted to cause a scene in that quaint little shop, especially not in front of a number of the other tankery teams, but what that blonde-haired girl had said had just riled something up in him, the arrogance in her tone just dripping from every word. Well, hopefully he didn't have to see that particular girl again, at least not up close. It's not like she was someone high in Kuromorimine's hierarchy, right? "That'd be a good start."

"Anyway, apart from our allies, from what I c'n reckon the two teams we're facing haven't really got too much goin' for them. They're pretty tenacious, and I know that Oarai especially have some tricks up their sleeves, but they don't have the kit we do, and having the steel on the ground to do the job is half the battle."

"Don't sweat it too much boss man," Lawson drawled in response. "We give it our all, do our job, and if we win, we win, right? No sense in gettin' wound up over these things."

Abrams fixed his XO with an irritated glare. If there was one thing Bradley's commander and his second disagreed on, it was the level of seriousness with which they were to treat the tankery tournament they had found themselves in at the start of the term. Abrams, in keeping with the 'now or never' (informally 'do or die') motto of Bradley Academy, was fervent in his belief that it was the duty of the American cadets to win this tournament, while Callum took a far more laidback approach to the tournament, viewing it with the same lackadaisical idleness he viewed his studies. Were it not for the latter's competence, Abrams had no doubt that Lawson would have washed out in the first term.

Any tension was quickly dispelled however, as the door to the office burst open, a ponytailed brunette flying into the room in its wake. "Hey chief! What you got-" Her shout, and her headlong charge, were curtailed however by a large sofa, sat about two yards into the room, over which she went flying, ending up in a folded, upside-down heap on the other side. "Ow."

The girl pulled herself to her feet, a bashful grin on her face and one hand rubbing the back of her head. "Sorry about that, guess I wasn't watching where I was going. When was that couch put there anyway?"

"About three months ago Kerry," George replied. "You've even sat in it a few times."

"Oh yeah, now I remember!" Abrams smirked, holding back a chortle. The female cadet facing him, Kerry Latham, had managed in some way to collide with the furniture on at least three separate occasions in the last couple of weeks, a high tally considering how few meetings they held in the room. Her eagerness and gung-ho often led to her energy getting the better of her good sense, as Kerry's entrance had just demonstrated. However, far be it for the other Bradley cadets to get irritated by it, as the girl's boundless energy endeared her to almost everyone she met.

"Anyway, chief, what you got for us? You said you would be talking to those Kuromorimine girls today, so any news?" Kerry asked as she manoeuvred around the coffee table to stand in front of Abrams. She stood nearly a head shorter than Abrams, less a testament to her lack of stature than the Bradley CO's great height. Her build was neither slender nor broad, but it was hard to discern Kerry's exact proportions due to the large American tanker's jacket she wore over her fatigues, the bulky leather garment disguising much of her frame. Latham's other garments were somewhat non-standard too, patches of leather reinforcement covering the inner thigh of her baggy fatigue pants, evidently for riding, and a pair of side-buckled cavalry boots reaching two-thirds of the way up her calves.

"Yeah, just got finished talking to 'em now. We'll be meeting up with some of them in a few days to discuss strategy and suchlike."

"Sweet! Can I come?" the brunette girl asked eagerly, her ponytail swaying back and forth as she bobbed excitedly. Abrams almost couldn't stop himself from smiling; Kerry's mood was infectious.

"Course ya can, you're one of my captains ain't ya?"

"Awesome! I'm so looking forward to this now, I've even heard that Kuromorimine has a Maus, I can't wait to see it." It was hard to place her accent compared to the other cadets, as Kerry didn't hail from mainland, but rather the 50th state, Hawaii, which also accounted for her slightly more tanned skin.

"Maus?" Callum asked sleepily. "Ain't that one of those super-heavy tanks?"

"Yeah, it's a 200 ton experimental design the Krauts came up with in the last year of the war. It's practically a moving block of steel." Kerry's eyes practically lit up at the prospect of seeing some of the rarer German tanks; since they'd started tankery the brunette had been enamoured with seeing new and exotic bits of armour.

"That's pretty useful, I imagine Oarai and Wellesley might have a hard time taking it out if they came up against it. Plus, you could just sit in it all day and nobody could touch you…" Lawson drifted off into his own little world, the prospect of a tank where the crew had to put almost no effort in to defeat the enemy just too enticing a thought.

"Um, about that…" George interrupted, retrieving his laptop from the desk and pulling up a video online. Callum peered at the screen as a clip from the previous term's tankery tournament came up, mouth agape as he watched a Hetzer plough underneath Kuromorimine's Maus, before a Type 89 Medium tank used it as a ramp to jam the Maus' turret, a Panzer IV then delivering the finishing blow.

"What the….."

"Fuck." Kerry started the phrase, with Callum completing it. It was as the pair tried to process the spectacle they'd just seen that another cadet walked into the room.

"Hey there, did I miss anything?"

The fourth cadet to enter the room was slight; unlike her fellows she bore few of the signs of the rigorous physical regime that Bradley's students went through, although Abrams knew this was deceptive. She also had the sun-kissed skin of a Californian, rather unlike Kerry's native tan or George and Callum's more ruddy complexions. However, the girl's most striking feature at a glance was her hair, which cascaded down her back in a muted shade of lavender.

Abrams looked up to greet the new arrival as his subordinates tried to compose themselves. "Hey Nina," he greeted. "You didn't miss anything, just these two picking their jaws up off the floor."

"Oh, why?"

Bradley's XO handed his subordinate the laptop, leaving her to watch the video as she plopped down on the sofa. "This is what we're up against in the next round, and who we're going to be working with."

"That's… interesting," Nina said, with characteristic understatement, once the clip had played through. "I'm gonna hazard a guess that the guys who were pulling all the crazy stunts off aren't on our side."

"Yup."

"Ah. Is that going to be a problem?" The lavender-haired cadet was possibly the most level-headed of Abrams' adjutants, a trait that made her ideal for the role she played in the Bradley team. However, like many of her teammates, once she was riled up, it was hard to calm her down again.

"Could be," Abrams replied. "Like I said to Cal, they have some tricks up their sleeves, but we've got the kit and the guts to hit 'em where it hurts. As long as we hit them hard and fast, keep our eyes open, we'll have it sewn up tight."

"Okay then, anything else I need to know?" Nina answered cheerfully.

"Yeah, in a few days we'll be meeting our partners for the next match. I'll want you with me, Cal and Kerry for that meeting."

"Got it."

"We're going to sort out working with these Black Forest girls, and then we're going to sort out Oarai and Wellesley. They won't stop us," George proclaimed, a feral grin prominent on his features. "We'll smash through any obstacle and show just how strong Bradley Academy is by winning this tournament."

**Carrier Dauntless – 1858hrs**

Pearce fiddled with his collar for what must have been the twentieth time since leaving his dormitory less than ten minutes prior. Although it was but a short walk to Angela's dormitory, Pearce wanted to be punctual so had made sure to leave in plenty of time, which had the added benefit of making sure he didn't get cold feet at the last minute. He'd elected to wear a dark grey three-piece for the evening, topped with smart white shirt, red tie and black shoes, with the jacket slung over his shoulder. However, despite the immaculate condition of his attire, Sam knew it couldn't conceal the nerves that would be written onto his face like bold text. Of course he was nervous, why wouldn't he be? Even if it was just a bet, he was still taking out his executive officer, a dangerously attractive woman, to dinner, a rather daunting task for the uninitiated.

Nevertheless, Pearce did not have long to dwell on the thought, as he knocked on the door of his counterpart's dormitory. A hastily shouted 'one minute!' was his reply, coming through the woodwork slightly muffled. Almost by habit, Pearce nearly slipped into an at-ease position whilst he waited, as his thoughts were elsewhere, mostly dwelling on how he got to this point. Fortunately, the door flew open before he could lose himself entirely in his musings.

"Sorry I kept you waiting, I couldn't find where I'd left my shoes," Angela said, although Pearce was only half paying attention. He'd found himself entirely spellbound by Clark, who in his opinion looked absolutely stunning. Her hair had been pinned up at the back in a braided ring somewhat reminiscent of Darjeeling's and brushed to the side at the front, whilst a sparing use of makeup only enhanced her charming features. However for Pearce the most striking change was in Angela's wardrobe, as Clark had replaced her usual uniform with a simple forest green dress and a matching pair of shoes with relatively low heels. It was a simple touch of femininity, but it only added to the Wellesley XO's beauty in her counterpart's eyes.

"It's no problem at all," Pearce managed after only a slight pause. He had half been expecting Clark to chew him out over his staring at her, but noticed that she was fidgeting a little under his gaze. Was she nervous too? Sceptical that someone so confident could ever be nervous, he wrote it off as her having been in a rush to get ready. "It was hardly a wait, and apparently well worth it; you look lovely."

Clark coloured at the compliment, before offering an appraising glance in return. "Well you don't clean up too badly either. But you're definitely over-dressed," she said, snatching Pearce's jacket before he could protest and deftly throwing it onto the arm of a chair in her room, leaving him with his waistcoat over his shirt. "Much better. Well, shall we?"

"Of course," Pearce replied, stepping aside so Angela could lock her door. Once she had done so, the pair fell into step as they began the walk across the carrier to the Duke's Table. The sun, although setting rapidly, still lingered in the sky, giving the evening air a hint of warmth despite the early month of the year. Its waning glow was supplemented swiftly by the carrier's streetlights, illuminating the dark before the shadows could grow too long.

After a short silence, Angela spoke, fearing that she should lose her nerve were the quiet atmosphere to persist. "You know, you didn't do too badly in that sparring session earlier. A bit more innovation and some physical improvements and you might yet take that top spot away from Chloe."

"I think you over-estimate my chances," Pearce said, rubbing at a particularly sore bruise on his arm from that afternoon, mercifully hidden by his shirt sleeves. "You were knocking me around the hall like a tennis ball earlier, so I doubt I'll be on a level to beat either you or Chloe any time soon."

"You'll get there," Clark answered encouragingly, fidgeting with her dress again as she did so. Angela's attire for the evening had her a little out of her comfort zone, as she was more used to the uniform trousers and jacket of the academy than dresses and skirts, but she had decided to make the effort for the evening.

"Perhaps. I do have a good teacher after all."

"Flatterer."

"I prefer 'honest'."

"Whichever it is, I reckon you'll be more than a match for anyone on the tankery team sooner than you think. At least with a blade, I've got no idea about anything else."

"Considering that we have the academy judo champion, the boxing club number one and a large number of rugby and other sports players on the tankery team, I think I'd rather take my chances with a sword than without." Pearce said. He had no wish to try and engage much of his team in fisticuffs any time soon, as not only were most of them larger and heavier than he was, many of them were quite accomplished fighters too. Sarah, Hobart team's loader, was the academy judo champion, while Jake, Russell team's gunner, currently had a ten match undefeated run in the boxing club, and they were but the tip of the iceberg.

"When you put it that way…" Clark tailed off. Though most of the cadets were at least competent fighters, having had at least some instruction to that effect, some, many of her comrades included, were a cut above the rest. Even Angela, who was no slouch and at least passably acquainted with a few fighting styles, did not relish the idea of fighting some of the other tankery team members.

"Nevertheless, whatever my deficiencies in other martial disciplines, I still owe you a thank you for helping me in this particular one," Pearce said. "Bet or not, dinner is the least I can do for you."

"It's no problem," Angela replied nonchalantly, although she found the thanks quite gratifying.

There was scant time for further conversation as the pair arrived at their destination; _The Duke's Table,_ its entrance ina relatively unremarkable building set away from the main area of the logistics hub. Upon opening the outer door, Clark and Pearce found themselves in an elevator, which spirited them up one floor and into an elegantly furnished hallway. At the end of the passage was a waiter, a roughly middle-aged man with combed black hair and attired in a well-cut dinner suit. He stood next to a lectern with a list mounted upon it, and behind him was a large oakwood door.

"Ah, good evening, sir, madam," the waiter greeted as they approached, his accent and elocution one of polite diffidence, which suited the image of the butler to a tee. "The name of your reservation please."

"Clark, for two," Angela responded. The waiter scanned down the list on the lectern with a swift glance, before marking one of the columns with a pen that seemingly materialised in his hand.

"Ah, Miss Clark. I believe your table has been prepared for you, do go in, one of my colleagues will seat you and your companion." He opened one of the oaken portals before stepping aside to allow the two cadets entry.

Stepping through the entryway into the restaurant proper, Clark and Pearce were greeted by an elegant décor reminiscent of a Georgian dining hall. White plastered walls were paired with a high vaulted ceiling, from which chandeliers offered the room a soft lighting, supplemented by further lights in wall brackets. The floor was wooden, but an array of plush carpets were positioned under each table and its accompanying chairs, which themselves were covered in deep red tablecloths. A large portrait of the academy's namesake duke hung above the hearth, mercifully empty given the already warm temperature of the room. The pair were given but a moment to take all of this in before a smartly dressed waitress addressed them.

"Right this way please, sir, madam, your table is ready."

Clark and Pearce were escorted past a number of other occupied tables including one, which Pearce absently noted, at which both their history and maths teachers were seated. Gratefully none of the other diners seemed interested in the pair being escorted through their midst, sparing the already slightly skittish cadets from further scrutiny. Eventually their waitress paused at a table, set for two, underneath one of the large windows on the room's flank, at which Angela and Sam seated themselves.

"I'll come back in a few minutes to take your orders." The waitress then departed, leaving the pair peering over the menu.

"I must say, it is quite lovely in here," Pearce commented, absently glancing round the restaurant to take in its full image.

"Have you never been in here before?" Angela enquired curiously. She was intrigued; Pearce was usually very private, or at least quiet, about his personal affairs, and this presented a rare opportunity for her to dig deeper into what made him tick.

"I've never had cause to, my social life is hardly what you would call active. I take it you have though?"

"A few times with the girls."

"You mean your crewmates?" Clark nodded.

"Yeah, and a few others. Not all of our group does tankery, so we try to meet up in our off-time. We usually come here once a term for a big catch-up."

"A commendable idea. I think I might have to adopt it myself," Pearce said.

"Stealing subordinate's ideas now? For shame, Pearce," Angela jested, feigning mock disappointment.

"Well, when a subordinate has a rare moment of genius, it is up to the commander to see that it is not squandered," the Wellesley CO replied, eyes twinkling in amusement.

"Cheeky git," Clark retorted, raising her menu to create a visual barrier between her and her dinner partner. The action, coupled with what seemed to be a brief scowl, worried Pearce that he had somehow offended her, so he said nought, even as the waitress came and went with their drinks and orders.

Eventually Angela broke the silence, sensing Pearce's unwillingness to broach conversation. "Okay, what's eating you? As quiet as you are, you'd normally have said something by now." Her eyes held genuine concern. "Tell me what's wrong," she said in a softer tone.

"Are you not angry with me?" Sam asked tentatively.

"No, why would I be? I'll be angry if you don't tell me what's got you all jittery."

"Well…."

"C'mon spit it out."

"I was worried that I'd upset you with that last comment," Pearce said, his cheeks stained red in embarrassment at the admission. He half-expected Angela to laugh in his face, but instead his XO looked back with a mix of confusion and happiness.

"Why would you think that upset me?" Clark asked. While her tone contained a note of carefully measured curiosity, inside she was secretly elated. If nothing else, it meant that he considered the two of them to be close enough to care about her, although the blush hinted at even more. "You obviously didn't mean it, and we've said worse to each other before. Plus, we're friends now, right?" Pearce nodded. "That means I can tell you if you've overstepped the mark, and you me. So don't worry yourself, and if you've got something to say, say it." Another nod.

Silence settled over the table for a short while, allowing the mood to settle back to a comfortable neutral, before Pearce spoke again.

"Apologies if I'm being presumptive Angela, but could I ask why you were so keen on being the captain of the tankery team at the start of the term?"

"Hmm? Probably the same reason you did; wanted to prove that I was the best at what I do, and what better way than being right at the top of the ladder," Angela answered, nonchalantly plucking a piece of bread from the basket in the middle of the table as she did so.

"May I ask why?"

"You know why, if either of us screws up, we're out of the academy. Your idiot parents and my prick of a father don't want us here, so we have to show them we deserve it."

"My parents don't want me here because they hate the military," Pearce said, "What possible reason could your father have?"

"He's a sexist twat who doesn't think I can make it in the army. Or anywhere for that matter," Angela said bluntly. It was hardly an exaggeration; Edward Clark believed that women could not make good soldiers, and he'd fought tooth and nail to try and prevent Angela from going to Wellesley, where it was highly probable she might continue into the army from. It was one of the few times her mother had defied him – she had sent off Angela's enrolment papers before Edward had come home, which had left him furious. "My mother is too timid to stand up to him, and she won't leave him either, even though he's awful for her, so I have to keep my grades up or they'll have me home in a flash."

"Ah," Pearce said, unsure of how to respond to what Angela had just said. "So I imagine part of the reason you push yourself so hard, aside from getting the grades, is to defy your father's expectations?"

"That, and I had the same treatment from some of the teachers at my secondary school. I hate being underestimated," Angela spat, clear venom in her tone. "That's why I work hard, and it's why I hated you as well."

"You… hated me?" Pearce choked out, looking crestfallen. A small, nagging voice at the back of his mind asked if she'd just been stringing him along this whole time. Angela felt a moment of panic as she realised what she'd just said, and saw Sam's face fall, but realised she couldn't take those words back.

"I did," she said, emphasising the past element of the phrase, before seeking out Pearce's eyes with her own. Green eyes met brown, the clear feeling in Angela's soothing Pearce's anxiety; her emerald orbs held no deception, only heartfelt concern. "But that was a long time ago, and a lot has changed. I used to see you as an obstacle preventing me reaching the top, you kept outdoing me and it just annoyed me no end. You seemed to take no joy in the top spot too, no celebration at what you'd achieved, and it frustrated me that no matter who hard I worked, I couldn't seem to beat you. In hindsight I probably should have realised you were in the same boat as me."

Angela's view of Pearce had always been a complicated dichotomy, albeit one that had shifted in recent months. As she'd just revealed, she had originally harboured an intense dislike of the diminutive cadet due to his seeming ability to excel in all academic fields, yet taking no pride in the achievement. But that had been steadily tempered by excitement, as her competition with Sam for all the top spots had given her drive above and beyond merely defying her father's views. After they were forced to work together, thereby becoming more well-acquainted with her self-appointed rival, Angela found her dislike of Pearce slipping away, as she found more common ground with him, and they shared intimate moments together, where Angela had begun to understand him even better. Comradeship had become friendship, and as she had spent more and more time in Pearce's company, Clark had felt increasingly drawn to him. The exact reasons for it were hard to place, but one of the most prominent was that Pearce had never lumbered her with expectations, but instead challenged her to better herself, rather than judging her for what she was.

"You had no way of knowing," Sam replied. "Just as I had no way of knowing why you were trying so hard to outdo me. All I can say is that I'm happy that you don't hate me anymore." His last sentence was a masterstroke of understatement, but Angela was not to know that. Instead she just smiled in return, pleased that it seemed Pearce had not taken offence to what she'd said.

"I know, but I still feel crap that I disliked you over something so petty." Angela was stumbling a little to find a way to articulate how she felt. She wasn't particularly experienced at heart-to-heart interactions, having cultivated a cold exterior in her determination to succeed, which left her a little deficient in expressing her feelings. Not that Pearce wasn't in the same boat, although he'd gotten a bit more practice recently. "I mean, hell, I don't know why you didn't hate me just as much, I was pretty awful back then, and…"

Clark was prevented from tailing off into inarticulate rambling as she felt Pearce's warm gaze settle on her, switching the position they'd been in before. He smiled at her, one of those benevolent half-smiles that, while still reserved, held no ulterior motive, and Angela's worries seemed to melt away. A glance into his eyes, a deep brown that seemed to pour forth feeling, found only care in his gaze. She could have stared into those for days.

"Please, you have no need to apologise," Pearce said. "We made our peace a long time ago, and I for one am glad for it. There is no need for us to dwell on what was, only to make the most of what we have now."

Angela raised her glass, clinking it against Pearce's. "I'll drink to that."

They left the serious conversation aside for a while as their dinner arrived, instead exchanging questions in an attempt to learn more about their opposite number. In between bites of the exquisitely prepared food the pair swapped anecdotes, which on more than one occasion had the other chuckling in mirth. Angela particularly found some of the stories Pearce told about his time in Japan with Erwin very amusing, although she couldn't help feel a bit jealous of how fondly he spoke of her. Some of it must have shown on her face though, as Pearce made sure to offer her a reassuring smile whenever her mood seemed to darken. He had no idea why, failing to make the connection between Angela's occasional looks of distaste and the mention of his old friend's name, but it seemed to make her happier, which contented him too.

The pair were just polishing off their puddings, in Angela's case a hefty portion of lemon drizzle cake, while Pearce had a sinfully large amount of sticky toffee pudding, when Pearce asked a question that had been residing at the back of his mind for a while.

"Angela, if you don't mind me asking, what is your ambition once we graduate from here?" He left the possibility that neither of them might graduate aside for the moment, not wishing to acknowledge it.

"Hmm?" Clark's jaw stopped mid-chew as she looked over at Pearce curiously. She finished with the piece of cake before replying, "What do you mean? Career, or more specific?"

"Start with career, then."

"I want to join the officer corps. I couldn't really tell you why, but since I was little I wanted to join the army, and now I'm here, so the OTC (Officer Training Corps) isn't too much of a jump."

"Any particular rank or branch? I could imagine someone with your drive attaining high rank someday," Pearce said. He did so not out of idle flattery, but because he could genuinely envisage such a thing occurring.

"I can't say I'm that bothered about what branch I go into, RAC (Royal Armoured Corps), Infantry, REME (Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers), any of them are fine, but now you mention rank…. I want to make field marshal."

Pearce nearly choked on his cake. "Not wishing to insult your intelligence, but you realise that not only is Field Marshal the highest rank in the British army, most of the people who hold it are royalty, correct?"

"And? You said yourself that I'm a pretty driven person, why not aim high? If nothing else, it means I go down swinging." Clark grinned. "Plus, that means that I'll definitely outrank you if you join the corps, and I'll get to boss you around."

Pearce smirked. "This of course presumes that I don't beat you to the rank."

"Get real Pearce, you can't be serious."

"Oh believe me, I am always serious."

The pair looked at each other in mock seriousness, each staring the other down in a contest of wills, until the sheer ridiculousness of the situation overwhelmed them, and both Sam and Angela burst out laughing. The giggling continued for a short while before the pair could regain their composure, Pearce absently noting how nice Angela's smile was, and resolving to make her do so more often.

After a few more minutes of playful banter, Pearce waved the waitress over and asked for the bill, receiving an amused smirk from Clark as he did so.

"Your wallet bracing itself for the coming storm?"

"Perhaps. My debit card seems to be wailing in terror, knowing that its end is nigh, to be sacrificed on the altar of my conceit," Pearce replied, riffing on the concept for melodramatic effect.

"All the more motivation for you then; if you get good then you might not find yourself losing bets like these."

"But then who would be your meal ticket?"

Once Pearce had paid for their meal (a surprisingly reasonable sum, if he were honest), the pair of cadets departed _The Duke's Table_. It had long since gone dark outside, and the warm evening sun had been replaced with the cold glow of streetlamps. There was a distinct nip in the air, though it wasn't quite cold, and the normal clamour of activity aboard the carrier had died down, leaving only the faint sounds of the sea, carried over the side of the titanic carrier. The two cadets said very little as they made their way home, but it was a comfortable silence, the pair merely content with each other's company as they reflected on the events of the evening.

For Wellesley's commander, all this evening had done was confirm what he had already suspected; that he'd fallen for his XO, hard. It was the only explanation as to how she was consistently able to get under his skin, why he fretted over everything he said to her, why there were butterflies in his stomach when she smiled. There were fears too, chief among them what would happen if they failed to win the tournament, but he quashed them swiftly. Tonight was not the time for fretting though, it was better to merely enjoy the moment, and a small smile graced Pearce's lips.

For Angela the situation was much the same, although where Pearce had merely confirmed his feelings for her, she had gauged the depth of what she felt for him, and been surprised at how deep they ran. Every time she reran the evening in her mind, she noted the slight fluttering of her heart, and a hint of warmth in her cheeks. It was hard to deny what she felt, although harder still to know what her counterpart was thinking. Well, there were a few ways to find out….

Alighting at Angela's front door, Clark fished her keys out her bag and opened up, flicking the light on. However, before she entered, she spun to face Pearce, who was waiting patiently outside.

"You know, I really enjoyed tonight. Certainly the best bet I've won in a while."

"Definitely the best one I've ever lost too. Your company was wonderful this evening, and I might have to lose a few more bets so I can enjoy it more often."

"Perhaps you might even win some, then I can treat you," Angela replied, before adding in a demure tone, "Or maybe we could skip the bets altogether." Her heart leapt in her chest as she spoke, it was make or break time.

"I don't und-" Pearce's confused reply was cut off as Angela stepped in towards him and pressed a finger to his lips.

"I meant like this," Angela whispered, kissing him on the cheek before stepping backwards and into her room, offering a caring smile. "I want your answer tomorrow. Goodnight, sweetheart."

It took a few minutes for Pearce's brain to reboot as he walked home. He pressed one hand to his cheek, where he could still feel the warm caress of her lips, and smiled gently, though inside his heart leapt for joy. He knew what his answer was.

**Chapter End**

**There we are, another chapter in this ever-growing tale. I'd like to thank you all for your patience with my slow updates, and I'd also especially like to thank Warmachine32 for his omake, and my beta-reader, who has been an absolute star and provided a ton of help.**

**Anyway, if you enjoyed this chapter, or didn't, or have any questions, kindly leave a review, or PM directly, I'm always eager to hear your feedback. I'm especially interested in hearing what you thought of the latter half of the chapter, I'm no romance writer, so I'd like to know what you think about the 'not-date'.**

**I can't promise when the next chapter will be up, I go away to start my masters in two weeks or so, and I'm probably going to be pretty busy, plus I'm trying to complete a prototype chapter for my new story idea. However, I can guarantee that there will be another chapter. At some point. Somewhere in the future. So until then,**

**HereticalShinigami**


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